\ 



^<?1 




CAPTAIN IAN HAY BEITH 



The First 
Hundred Thousand 

Being the Unofficial 
Chronicle of a Unit of "K (1)" 

BY 

IAN HAY ' i 



Boston and New York 
Houghton Mifflin Company 

1916 






^ 



^? fan |)ap 

THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND. 

SCALLY : THE STORY OF A PERFECT GENtLE- 

M AN . With Frontispiece. 
A KNIGHT ON WHEELS. 

HAPPY-GO-LUCKY. Illustrated by Charles E. Brock. 
A SAFETY MATCH. With frontispiece:. 
A MAN'S MAN. With frontisDiece. 
THE RIGHT STUFF. With frontispiece. 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
Boston and New York 



^/^r\ 



TO 

MY WIFE 



// '/ 



PUBLISHERS' NOTE 

The "Junior Sub," who writes the following ac- 
count of the exi>eriences of some of the first hundred 
thousand of Kitchener's army, is, as the title-page 
of the volume now reveals, Ian "Raj Beith, author 
of those deservedly popular novels, The Right Stuff, 
A Man's Man, A Safety Match, and Happy-Go- 
Lucky, 

Captain Beith, who was born in 1876 and there- 
fore narrowly came within the age limit for mili- 
tary service, enlisted at the first outbreak of hos- 
tilities in the summer of 1914, and was made a sub- 
lieutenant in the Argyll and Sutherland High- 
landers. After training throughout the fall and 
winter at Aldershot, he accompanied his regiment 
to the front in April, and, as his narrative discloses, 
immediately saw some very active service and 
rapidly rose to the rank of captain. In the offen- 
sive of September, Captain Beith's division was 
badly cut up and seriously reduced in numbers. 
He has lately been transferred to a machine-gun 
division, and "for some mysterious reason" — as 
he characteristically puts it in a letter to his pub- 
lishers, — has been recommended for the military 
cross. 



viii PUBLISHERS' NOTE 

The story of The First Hundred Thousand was 
originally contributed in the form of an anonymous 
narrative to Blackwood's Magazine, Writing to his 
publishers, last May, Captain Beith describes the 
circumstances under which it was written: — 

" I write this from the stone floor of an outhouse, 
where the pig meal is first accumulated and then 
boiled up at a particularly smelly French farm, 
which is saying a good deal. It is a most interest- 
ing life, and if I come through the present unpleas- 
antness I shall have enough copy to last me twenty 
years. Meanwhile, I am using Blackwood's Maga- 
zine as a safety-valve under a pseudonym." 

It is these "safety-valve" papers that are here 
offered to the American public in their complete- 
ness, — a picture of the great struggle uniquely 
rich in graphic human detail. 

4 Park Street 



CONTENTS 

BOOK ONE 
BLANK CARTRIDGES 

I. AB OVO ....... 3 

II. THE DAILY GRIND 7 

III. GROWING PAINS ..... 14 

IV. THE CONVERSION OF PRIVATE m'sLATTERY 19 
V. "crime" 25 

VI. THE LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PERSIANS . 37 

VII. SHOOTING STRAIGHT . . . .63 

VIII. BILLETS . . . . . . .83 

IX. MID-CHANNEL 96 

X. DEEDS OF DARKNESS . . . .107 

XI. OLYMPUS 132 

XII. . . . AND SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE . 149 
XIII. CONCERT PITCH 164 

BOOK TWO 
r LIVE ROUNDS 

XIV. THE BACK OF THE FRONT 
XV. IN THE TRENCHES — AN OFF-DAY . 



XVI. "dirty work at the cross-roads to- 
night" 

XVII. THE NEW WARFARE 

XVIII. THE FRONT OF THE FRONT 

XIX. THE TRIVIAL ROUND 

XX. THE GATHERING OF THE EAGLES . 

XXI. THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS . 



187 

200 

214 
228 
238 
268 
300 
312 



"K (1)" 

We do not deem ourselves A 1, 

We have no past: we cut no dash: 

Nor hope, when launched against the Hun, 

To raise a more than moderate splash. 

Bui yesterday, we said farewell 
To plough; to pit; to dock; to mill. 
For glory? Drop it! Why? Oh, well — 
To have a slap at Kaiser Bill. 

And now to-day has come along. 
With rifle, haversack, and pack. 
We're off, a hundred thousand strong. 
And — some of us will not come hack. 

But all we ask, if that befall, 
Is this. Within your hearts he writ 
This single-line memorial: — 
He did his duty — and his bit! 



NOTE 

The reader is hereby cautioned against regard- 
ing this narrative as an official historj^ of the 
Great War. 

The following pages are merely a record of 
some of the personal adventures of a typical 
regiment of Kitchener's Army. 

The chapters were written from day to day, 
and published from month to month. Conse- 
quently, prophecy is occasionally falsified, and 
opinions moderated, in subsequent pages. 

The characters are entirely fictitious, but the 
incidents described all actually occurred. 



BOOK ONE 
BLANK CARTRIDGES 



The First Hundred Thousand 



AB OVO 

**Squoad 'Shun! Move to the right in 

fours. Forrm fourrrsf 

The audience addressed looks up with 
languid curiosity, but makes no attempt to 
comply with the speaker's request. 

*^Come away now, come away!" urges 
the instructor, mopping his brow. **Mind 
me: on the command *form fours,' odd num- 
bers will stand fast; even numbers tak' a 
shairp pace to the rear and anither to the 
right. Now forrm fourrsT' 

The squad stands fast, to a man. Ap- 
parently — nay, verily — they are all odd 
numbers. 

The instructor addresses a gentleman in 
a decayed Homburg hat, who is chewing to- 
bacco in the front rank. 



4 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

'^Yous, what's your number?'' 

The ruminant ponders. 

**Seeven fower ought seeven seeven," he 
announces, after a prolonged mental effort. 

The instructor raises clenched hands to 
heaven. 

^^Man, I'm no asMn' you your regi- 
mental number! Never heed that. It's 
your number in the squad I'm seeking. You 
numbered off frae the right five minutes 
syne. ' ' 

Ultimately it transpires that the culprit's 
number is ten. He is pushed into his place, 
in company with the other even numbers, 
and the squad finds itself approximately in 
fours. 

^^Forrm two deep!" barks the in- 
structor. 

The fours disentangle themselves reluct- 
antly, Number Ten being the last to forsake 
his post. 

*^Now we'll dae it jist yince more, and 
have it right," announces the instructor, 
with quite unjustifiable optimism. *^Forrm 
fourrs!" 

This time the result is better, but there is 
confusion on the left flank. 

* * Yon man, oot there on the left, ' ' shouts 
the instructor, ** what's your number?" 

Private Mucklewame, whose mind is slow 
but tenacious, answers — not without pride at 
knowing — 

** Nineteen!" 



AB OVO 5 

(Thank goodness, he reflects, odd numbers 
stand fast npon all occasions.) 

**Weel, mind this,'' says the sergeant — 
'^Left files is always even numbers, even 
though they are odd numbers. ' ' 

This revelation naturally clouds Private 
Mucklewame's intellect for the afternoon; 
and he wonders dimly, not for the first time, 
why he ever abandoned his well-paid and 
well-fed job as a butcher's assistant in dis- 
tant Wishaw ten long days ago. 

And so the drill goes on. All over the 
drab, dusty, gritty parade-ground, under the 
warm September sun, similar squads are 
being pounded into shape. They have no 
uniforms yet: even their instructors wear 
bowler hats or cloth caps. Some of the faces 
under the brims of these hats are not too 
prosperous. The junior officers are drilling 
squads too. They are a little shaky in what 
an actor would call their * Spatter," and they 
are inclined to lay stress on the wrong sylla- 
bles ; but they move their squads about some- 
how. Their seniors are dotted about the 
square, vigilant and helpful — here prompting 
a rusty sergeant instructor, there unravelling 
a squad which, in a spirited but misguided 
endeavour to obey an impossible order from 
Second Lieutenant Bobby Little, has wound 
itself up into a formation closely resembling 
the third figure of the Lancers. 

Over there, by the officers' mess, stands the 
Colonel. He is in uniform, with a streak of 



6 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

parti-coloured ribbon running across above 
Ms left-hand breast-pocket. He is pleased to 
call himself a ** dug-out/' A fortnight ago he 
was fishing in the Garry, his fighting days 
avowedly behind him, and only the Special 
Eeserve between him and embonpoint. Now 
he finds himself pitchforked back into the 
Active List, at the head of a battalion eleven 
hundred strong. 

He surveys the scene. Well, his officers 
are all right. The Second in Command has 
seen almost as much service as himself. Of 
the four company commanders, two have been 
commandeered while home on leave from 
India, and the other two have practised the 
art of war in company with brother Boer. 
Of the rest, there are three subalterns from 
the Second Battalion — left behind, to their 
unspeakable woe — and four from the O.T.C. 
The juniors are very junior, but keen as 
mustard. 

But the men! Is it possible! Can that 
awkward, shy, self-conscious mob, with 
scarcely an old soldier in their ranks, be 
pounded, within the space of a few months, 
into the Seventh (Service) Battalion of the 
Bruce and Wallace Highlanders — one of the 
most famous regiments in the British Armyf 

The Colonel's boyish figure stiffens. 

** They 're a rough crowd," he murmurs, 
**and a tough crowd: but they're a stout 
crowd. By gad! we'll make them a credit 
to the Old Eegiment yet!" 



n 

THE DAILY GBIND 

We have been in existence for more than 
three weeks now, and occasionally we are 
conscious of a throb of real life. Squad drill 
is almost a thing of the past, and we work 
by platoons of over fifty men. To-day our 
platoon once marched, in perfect step, for 
seven complete and giddy paces, before disin- 
tegrating into its usual formation — namely, an 
advance in irregular echelon^ by individuals. 
Four platoons form a company, and each 
platoon is (or should be) led by a subaltern, 
acting under his company commander. But 
we are very short of subalterns at present. 
(We are equally short of N.C.O.'s; but then 
you can always take a man out of the ranks 
and christen him sergeant, whereas there is 
no available source of Second Lieutenants 
save capricious Whitehall.) Consequently, 
three platoons out of four in our company 
are at present commanded by N.C.O.'s, two 
of whom appear to have retired from active 
service about the time that bows and arrows 



8 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

began to yield place to the arquebus, while 
tlie third has been picked out of the ranks 
simply because he possesses a loud voice and 
a cake of soap. None of them has yet mas- 
tered the new drill — it was all changed at 
the beginning of this year — and the majority 
of the officers are in no position to correct 
their anachronisms. 

Still, we are getting on. Number Three 
Platoon (which boasts a subaltern) has just 
marched right round the barrack square, 
without — 

(1) Marching through another platoon. 

(2) Losing any part or parts of itself. 

(3) Adopting a formation which brings it 
face to face with a blank wall, or piles it up 
in a tidal wave upon the verandah of the 
married quarters. 

They could not have done that a week ago. 

But stay, what is this disturbance on the 
extreme left? The command ^* Right form " 
has been given, but six files on the outside 
flank have ignored the suggestion, and are 
now advancing (in skirmishing order) straight 
for the ashbin outside the cookhouse door, 
looking piteously round over their shoulders 
for some responsible person to give them an 
order which will turn them about and bring 
them back to the fold. Finally they are 
rounded up by the platoon sergeant, and re- 
stored to the strength. 

^' What went wrong. Sergeant? '' inquires 
Second Lieutenant Bobby Little. He is a 



THE DAILY GEIND 9 

fresh-faced youth, with an engaging smile. 
Three months ago he was keeping wicket for 
his school eleven. 

The sergeant comes briskly to attention. 

* ^ The order was not distinctly heard by the 
men, sir, ' ' he explains, ' ' owing to the corporal 
that passed it on wanting a tooth. Corporal 
Blain, three paces forward — march!" 

Corporal Blain steps forward, and after re- 
membering to slap the small of his butt with 
his right hand, takes up his parable — 

'** I was sittin' doon tae ma dinner on Sab- 
bath, sir, when my front teeth met upon a 
small piece bone that was stickit^ in — — '' 

Further details of this gastronomic tragedy 
are cut short by the blast of a whistle. The 
Colonel, at the other side of the square, has 
given the signal for the end of parade. Simul- 
taneously a bugle rings out cheerfully from 
the direction of the orderly-room. Break- 
fast, blessed breakfast, is in sight. It is 
nearly eight, and we have been as busy as 
bees since six. 

At a quarter to nine the battalion parades 
for a route-march. This, strange as it may 
appear, is a comparative rest. Once you have 
got your company safely decanted from 
column of platoons into column of route, your 
labours are at an end. All you have to do is 
to march; and that is no great hardship 
when you are as hard as nails, as we are 
fast becoming. On the march the mental 



10 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

gymnastics involved by tlie formation of an 
advanced guard or the disposition of a piqnet 
line are removed to a safe distance. There is 
no need to wonder guiltily whether you have 
sent out a connecting-file between the van- 
guard and the main-guard, or if you remem- 
bered to instruct your sentry groups as to 
the position of the enemy and the extent of 
their own front. 

Second Lieutenant Little heaves a contented 
sigh, and steps out manfully along the dusty 
road. Behind him tramp his men. We have 
no pipers as yet, but melody is supplied by 
* ^ Tipperary, ' ' sung in ragged chorus, varied 
by martial interludes upon the mouth-organ. 
Despise not the mouth-organ. Ours has been 
a constant boon. It has kept sixty men in 
step for miles on end. 

Fortunately the weather is glorious. Day 
after day, after a sharp and frosty dawn, the 
sun swings up into a cloudless sky; and the 
hundred thousand troops that swarm like ants 
upon the undulating plains of Hampshire can 
march, sit, lie, or sleep on hard, sun-baked 
earth. A wet autumn would have thrown 
our training back months. The men, as yet, 
possess nothing but the fatigue uniforms they 
stand up in, so it is imperative to keep them 
dry. 

TramjD, tramp, tramp. *^Tipperary" has 
died away. The owner of the mouth-organ is 
temporarily deflated. Here is an opportunity 
for individual enterprise. It is soon seized. 



THE DAILY GEIND 11 

A hnsky soloist breaks into one of the death- 
less ditties of the new Scottish Laureate ; his 
comrades take up the air with ready response ; 
and presently we are all swinging along to 
the strains of **I Love a Lassie," — ^^Eoam- 
ing in the Gloaming" and ^^It's Just Like 
Being at Hame ' ' being rendered as encores. 

Then presently come snatches of a humor- 
ously amorous nature — ^^ Hallo, Hallo, Who's 
Your Lady Friend?"; * ^You're my Baby"; 
and the ungrammatical ^* Who Were You With 
Last Night?" Another great favourite is an 
involved composition which always appears 
to begin in the middle. It deals severely 
with the precocity of a youthful lover who 
has been detected wooing his lady in the 
Park. Each verse ends, with enormous 
gusto — 



<( 



Hold your haand oot, you naughty boy P 



Tramp, tramp, tramp. Now we are passing 
through a village. The inhabitants line the 
pavement and smile cheerfully upon us — 
they are always kindly disposed toward 
* ^ Scotchies ' ' — but the united gaze of the rank 
and file wanders instinctively from the pave- 
ment towards upper windows and kitchen en- 
trances, where the domestic staff may be dis- 
cerned, bunched together and giggling. Now 
we are out on the road again, silent and dusty. 
Suddenly, far in the rear, a voice of singular 
sweetness strikes up ^^The Banks of Loch 
Lomond." Man after man joins in, until the 



12 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

swelling cliorus rnns from end to end of the 
long column. Half the battalion hail from the 
Loch Lomond district, and of the rest there 
is hardly a man who has not indulged, during 
some Trades' Holiday or other, in ^^a pleesure 
trup'' upon its historic but inexpensive 
waters. 

"You'll tak' the high road and Fll tak' the low 
road '^ 

On we swing, full-throated. An English 
battalion, halted at a cross-road to let us go 
by, gazes curiously upon us. * * Tipperary ' ' 
they know, Harry Lauder they have heard of ; 
but this song has no meaning for them. It 
is ours, ours, ours. So we march on. The 
feet of Bobby Little, as he tramps at the head 
of his platoon, hardly touch the ground. His 
head is in the air. One day, he feels instinc- 
tively, he will hear that song again, amid 
sterner surroundings. When that day comes, 
the song, please God, for all its sorrowful 
wording, will reflect no sorrow from the 
hearts of those who sing it — only courage, 
and the joy of battle, and the knowledge of 
victory. 

" And I'll be in Scotland before ye. 

But me and my true love will never meet again 
On the bonny, bonny baanhs '' 

A shrill whistle sounds far ahead. It means 
' ' March at Attention. ' ' ^ * Loch Lomond ' ' dies 
away with uncanny suddenness — discipline is 



THE DAILY GRIND 13 

waxing stronger every day — and tunics are 
buttoned and rifles unslung. Three minutes 
later we swing demurely on to the barrack- 
square, across which a pleasant aroma of 
stewed onions is wafting, and deploy with 
creditable precision into the formation known 
as ^^mass.'' Then comes much dressing of 
ranks and adjusting of distances. The Col- 
onel is very particular about a clean finish 
to any piece of work. 

Presently the four companies are aligned: 
the N.C.O.'s retire to the supernumerary 
ranks. The battalion stands rigid, facing a 
motionless figure upon horseback. The figure 
stirs. 

'^ Fall out, the officers!" 

They come trooping, stand fast, and salute 
— very smartly. We must set an example to 
the men. Besides, we are hungry too. 

*^ Battalion, slope arms! Dis — missf' 

Every man, with one or two incurable ex- 
ceptions, turns sharply to his right and cheer- 
fully smacks the butt of his rifle with his 
disengaged hand. The Colonel gravely re- 
turns the salute; and we stream away, all 
the thousand of us, in the direction of the 
savoury smell. Two o'clock will come round 
all too soon, and with it company drill and 
tiresome musketry exercises; but by that 
time we shall have dined, and Fate cannot 
touch us for another twenty-four hours. 



in 

GROWING PAINS 

We have our little worries, of course. 

Last week we were all vaccinated, and we 
did not like it. Most of us have ^* taken" 
very severely, which is a sign that we badly 
needed vaccinating, but makes the discomfort 
no easier to endure. It is no joke handling a 
rifle when your left arm is swelled to the full 
compass of your sleeve; and the personal 
contact of your neighbour in the ranks is 
sheer agony. However, officers are con- 
siderate, and the work is made as light as 
possible. The faint-hearted report themselves 
sick; but the Medical Officer, an unsenti- 
mental man of coarse mental fibre, who was 
on a panel before he heard his country calling, 
merely recommends them to get well as soon 
as possible, as they are going to be inoculated 
for enteric next week. So we grouse — and 
bear it. 

There are other rifts within the military 
lute. At home we are persons of some conse- 
quence, with very definite notions about the 



GEOWING PAINS 15 

dignity of labour. We have employers who 
tremble at our frown ; we have Trades Union 
officials who are at constant pains to impress 
upon ns our own omnipotence in the industrial 
world in which we live. We have at our beck 
and call a Radical M.P. who, in return for 
our vote and suffrage, informs us that we are 
the backbone of the nation, and that we must 
on no^account permit ourselves to be trampled 
upon by the effete and tyrannical upper 
classes. Finally, we are Scotsmen, with all 
a Scotsman's curious reserve and contempt 
for social airs and graces. 

But in the Army we appear to be nobody. 
We are expected to stand stiffly at atten- 
tion when addressed by an officer; even to 
call him '*sir" — an honour to which our 
previous employer has been a stranger. At 
home, if we happened to meet the head of the 
firm in the street, and none of our colleagues 
was looking, we touched a cap, furtively. 
Now, we have no option in the matter. We 
are expected to degrade ourselves by meaning- 
less and humilia,ting gestures. The N.C.O.'s 
are almost as bad. If you answer a sergeant 
as you would a foreman, you are impertinent ; 
if you argue with him, as all good Scotsmen 
must, you are insubordinate ; if you endeavour 
to drive a collective bargain with him, you are 
mutinous; and you are reminded that upon 
active service mutiny is punishable by death. 
It is all very unusual and upsetting. 

You may not spit ; neither may you smoke 



16 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

a cigarette in the ranks, nor keep tlie residue 
thereof behind yonr ear. You may not take 
beer to bed with you. You may not postpone 
your shave till Saturday: you must shave 
every day. You must keep your buttons, 
accoutrements, and rifle speckless, and have 
your hair cut in a style which is not becoming 
to your particular type of beauty. Even your 
feet are not your own. Every Sunday morn- 
ing a young officer, whose leave has been 
specially stopped for the purpose, comes round 
the barrack-rooms after church and inspects 
your extremities, revelling in blackened nails 
and gloating over hammer-toes. For all 
practical purposes, decides Private Muckle- 
wame, you might as well be in Siberia. 

Still, one can get used to anything. Our 
lot is mitigated, too, by the knowledge that 
we are all in the same boat. The most 
olympian N.C.O. stands like a ramrod when 
addressing an officer, while lieutenants make 
obeisance to a company commander as humbly 
as any private. Even the Colonel was seen 
one day to salute an old gentleman who rode 
on to the parade-ground during morning drill, 
wearing a red band round his hat. Noting 
this, we realise that the Army is not, after 
all, as we first suspected, divided into two 
classes — oppressors and oppressed. We all 
have to ^*go through it." 

Presently fresh air, hard training, and 
clean living begin to weave their spell. In- 



GROWING PAINS 17 

credulous at first, we find ourselves slowly 
recognising the fact that it is possible to treat 
an officer deferentially, or carry out an order 
smartly, without losing one^s self-respect as a 
man and a Trades Unionist. The insidious 
habit of cleanliness, once acquired, takes des- 
potic possession of its victims: we find our- 
selves looking askance at room-mates who 
have not yet yielded to such predilections. 
The swimming-bath, where once we flapped 
unwillingly and ingloriously at the shallow 
end, becomes quite a desirable resort, and 
we look forward to our weekly visit with 
something approaching eagerness. We begin, 
too, to take our profession seriously. For- 
merly we regarded outpost exercises, ad- 
vanced guards, and the like, as a rather fatu- 
ous form of play-acting, designed to amuse 
those officers who carry maps and note-books. 
Now we begin to consider these diversions on 
their merits, and seriously criticise Second 
Lieutenant Little for having last night posted 
one of his sentry groups upon the skyline. 
Thus is the soul of a soldier born. 

We are getting less individualistic, too. 
We are beginning to think more of our 
regiment and less of ourselves. At first this 
loyalty takes the form of criticising other regi- 
ments, because their marching is slovenly, or 
their accoutrements dirty, or — most signifi- 
cant sign of all — their discipline is bad. We 
are especially critical of our own Eighth Bat- 
talion, which is fully three weeks younger than 



18 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

we are, and is not in the First Hnndred Thou- 
sand at all. In their presence we are war-worn 
veterans. We express it as onr opinion that 
the officers of some of these battalions mnst 
be a poor lot. From this it suddenly comes 
home to us that our officers are a good lot, 
and we find ourselves taking a queer pride in 
our company commander's homely strictures 
and severe sentences the morning after pay- 
night. Here is another step in the quicken- 
ing life of the regiment. Esprit de corps is 
raising its head, class prejudice and dour 
* ^ independence ' ' notwithstanding. 

Again, a timely hint dropped by the Col- 
onel on battalion parade this morning has set 
us thinking. We begin to wonder how we 
shall compare with the first-line regiments 
when we find ourselves * ^ oot there. ' ' Silently 
we resolve that when we, the first of the 
Service Battalions, take our place in trench 
or firing line alongside the Old Regiment, 
no one shall be found to draw unfavourable 
comparisons between parent and offspring. 
We intend to show ourselves chips of the old 
block. No one who knows the Old Eegiment 
can ask more of a young battalion than that. 



IV 

THE CONVEESION OP PEIVATE M'SLATTEKY 

OiTE evening a rumour ran round the barracks. 
Most barrack rumours die a natural death, 
but this one was confirmed by the fact that 
next morning the whole battalion, instead of 
performing the usual platoon exercises, was 
told oif for instruction in the art of presenting 
arms. ^*A" Company discussed the portent 
at breakfast. 

**What kin' o' a thing is a Eeview?'' in- 
quired Private M^Slattery. 

Private Mucklewame explained. Private 
M'Slattery was not impressed, and said so 
quite frankly. In the lower walks of the in- 
dustrial world Eoyalty is too often a mere 
name. Personal enthusiasm for a Sovereign 
whom they have never seen, and who in their 
minds is inextricably mixed up with the 
House of Lords, and capitalism, and the 
police, is impossible to individuals of the 
stamp of Private M'Slattery. To such, Eoy- 
alty is simply the head and corner-stone 



20 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

of a legal s^^stem which officionsly prevents a 
man from being drunk and disorderly, and 
the British Empire an expensive luxury for 
which the working man pays while the idle 
rich draw the profits. 

If M'Slattery's opinion of the Civil Code 
was low, his opinion of Military Law was at 
zero. In his previous existence in his native 
Clydebank, when weary of rivet-heating and 
desirous of change and rest, he had been 
accustomed to take a day ofP and become 
pleasantly intoxicated, being comfortably able 
to afford the loss of pay involved by his ab- 
sence. On these occasions he was accustomed 
to sleep off his potations in some public place 
— usually upon the pavement outside his last 
house of call — and it was his boast that so 
long as nobody interfered with him he inter- 
fered with nobody. To this attitude the 
tolerant police force of Clydebank assented, 
having their hands full enough, as a rule, 
in dealing with more militant forms of alco- 
hohsm. But Private M^Slattery, No. 3891, 
soon realised that he and Mr. Matthew M^ Slat- 
tery, rivet-heater and respected citizen of 
Clydebank, had nothing in common. Only 
last week, feeling pleasantly fatigued after 
five days of arduous military training, he had 
followed the invariable practice of his civil 
life, and taken a day otf. The result had 
fairly staggered him. In the orderly-room 
upon Monday morning he was charged 
with — 



PEIVATE M^SLATTEEY^S CONVERSIOI^T 21 

(1) Being absent from Parade at 9 a.m. on 

Saturday. 

(2) Being absent from Parade at 2 p.m. on 

Saturday. 

(3) Being absent from Tattoo at 9.30 p.m. on 

Saturday. 

(4) Being drunk in High Street about 9.40 

P.M. on Saturday. 

(5) Striking a Non-Commissioned Officer. 

(6) Attempting to escape from Ms escort. 

(7) Destroying Government property. (Three 

panes of glass in the guard-room.) 

Private M^Slattery, asked for an explana- 
tion, had pointed out that if he had been 
treated as per his working arrangement with 
the police at Clydebank, there would have 
been no trouble whatever. As for his day off, 
he was willing to forgo his day's pay and call 
the thing square. However, a hidebound CO. 
had fined him ^ve shillings and sentenced 
him to seven days' C.B. Consequently he 
was in no mood for Royal Reviews. He stated 
his opinions upon the subject in a loud voice 
and at some length. No one contradicted 
him, for he possessed the straightest left in 
the company; and no dog barked even when 
M^Slattery said that black was white. 

^*I wunner ye jined the Airmy at all, 
M^Slattery," observed one bold spirit, when 
the orator paused for breath. 

* ^ I wunner myself, ' ' said M' Slattery simply. 
If I had kent all aboot this ^attention,' and 



a 



22 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

*stan'-at-ease,' and needin' tae luft your hand 
tae your bunnet whenever you saw yin o ' they 
gentry-pups of officers goin' by, — dagont if 
I'd hae done it, Germans or no 1 (But I had a 
dram in me at the time.) I'm weel kent in 
Clydebank, and they'll tell you there that I'm 
no the man to be wastin' my time presenting 
airms tae kings or any other bodies." 

However, at the appointed hour M^ Slattery, 
in the front rank of A Company, stood to at- 
tention because he had to, and presented arms 
very creditably. He now cherished a fresh 
grievance, for he objected upon principle to 
have to present arms to a motor-car stand- 
ing two hundred yards away upon his right 
front. 

^*Wull we be gettin' hame to our dinners 
now?" he inquired gruffly of his neighbour. 

*^ Maybe he'll tak' a closer look at us," sug- 
gested an optimist in the rear rank. **He 
micht walk doon the line. ' ' 

' ' Walk ! No him ! ' ' replied Private M* Slat- 
tery. ' ' He '11 be awa ' hame in the motor. Hae 
ony o' you billies gotten a fag?" 

There was a smothered laugh. The officers 
of the battalion were standing rigidly at at- 
tention in front of A Company. One of these 
turned his head sharply. 

'^No talking in the ranks there!" he said. 
* ^ Sergeant, take that man 's name. ' ' 

Private M^ Slattery, rumbling mutiny, sub- 
sided, and devoted his attention to the move- 
ments of the Royal motor-car. 



PEIVATE M^SLATTERY'S CONVERSION 23 

Then the miracle happened. 

The great car rolled smoothly from the 
saluting-base, over the undulating turf, and 
came to a standstill on the extreme right of 
the line, half a mile away. There descended 
a slight figure in Miaki. It was the King — 
the King whom Private M^ Slattery had never 
seen. Another figure followed, and another. 

'* Herself iss there too!'' whinnied an ex- 
cited Highlander on M* Slattery 's right. ' * And 
the young leddy! Pless me, they are all for 
walking town the line on their feet. And the 
sun so hot in the sky! We shall see them 
close!" 

Private M* Slattery gave a contemptuous 
sniff. 

The excited battalion was called to a sense 
of duty by the voice of authority. Once more 
the long lines stood stiff and rigid — waiting, 
waiting, for their brief glimpse. It was a 
long time coming, for they were posted on 
the extreme left. 

Suddenly a strangled voice was uplifted — 

*^In God's name, what for can they no come 
tae us? Never heed the others!" 

Yet Private M^ Slattery was quite unaware 
that he had spoken. 

At last the little procession arrived. There 
was a handshake for the Colonel, and a word 
with two or three of the officers ; then a quick 
scrutiny of the rank and file. For a moment 
— yea, more than a moment — keen Eoyal eyes 
rested upon Private M^ Slattery, standing like 



24 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

a graven image, with his great chest straining 
the buttons of his tunic. 

Then a voice said, apparently in M^Slat- 
tery's ear — 

**A magnificent body of men, Colonel. I 
congratulate you.'' 

A minute later M^Slattery was aroused 
from his trance by the sound of the Colonel's 
ringing voice — 

^^Highlanders, three cheers for His Majesty 
the King!" 

M^Slattery led the whole Battalion, his 
glengarry high in the air. 

Suddenly his eye fell upon Private Muckle- 
wame, blindly and woodenly yelling himself 
hoarse. 

In three strides M^Slattery was standing 
face to face with the unconscious criminal. 

*^Yous low, lousy puddock," he roared — 
'*tak' off your bonnet!" He saved Muckle- 
wame the trouble of complying, and strode 
back to his place in the ranks. 

^^Yin mair, chaps," he shouted — '^for the 
young leddy ! ' ' 

And yet there are people who tell us that 
the formula, O.H.M.S., is a mere relic of 
antiquity. 



*'ceime" 



'^Beiitg in Private DnnsMe, Sergeant-Major," 
says tlie Company Commander. 

The Sergeant-Ma j or throws open the door, 
and barks — 

^^ Private Dunshie's escort!" 

The order is repeated fortissimo by some 
one ontside. There is a clatter of ammuni- 
tion boots getting into step, and a solemn 
procession of four files into the room. The 
leader thereof is a stumpy but enormously 
important-looking private. He is the escort. 
Number two is the prisoner. Numbers three 
and four are the accuser — counsel for the 
Crown, as it were — and a witness. The pro- 
cession reaches the table at which the Captain 
is sitting. Beside him is a young officer, one 
Bobby Little, who is present for ^instruc- 
tional" purposes. 

^^Mark time!" commands the Sergeant- 
Ma jor. '^Halt! Right turn!" 

This evolution brings the accused face to 
face with his judge. He has been deprived 



26 THE FIEST HUNDEEB THOUSAND 

of Ms cap, and of everything else *^ which 
may be employed as, or contain, a missile.'' 
(They think of everything in the King's 
Eegnlations.) 

^^What is this man's crime, Sergeant- 
Major?" inquires the Captain. 

*^0n this sheet, sir," replies the Sergeant- 
Ma j or. . . . 

By a *^ crime" the ordinary civilian means 
something worth recording in a special edition 
of the evening papers — something with a 
meat-chopper in it. Others, more catholic in 
their views, will tell you that it is a crime to 
inflict corporal punishment on any human 
being; or to permit performing animals to 
appear upon the stage ; or to subsist upon any 
food but nuts. Others, of still finer clay, will 
classify such things as Futurism, The Tango, 
Dickeys, and the Albert Memorial as crimes. 
The point to note is, that in the eyes of all 
these persons each of these things is a sin of 
the worst possible degree. That being so, 
they designate it a ^ ^ crime. " It is the strong- 
est term they can employ. 

But in the Army, ^ ' crime ' ' is capable of in- 
finite shades of intensity. It simply means 
^^misdemeanour," and may range from being 
unshaven on parade, or making a frivolous 
complaint about the potatoes at dinner, to 
irrevocably perforating your rival in love 
with a bayonet. So let party politicians, 
when they discourse vaguely to their con- 
stituents about ^^the prevalence of crime in 



CEIME 27 

the Army under the present effete and un- 
democratic system/' walk warily. 

Every private in the Army possesses what 
is called a conduct-sheet^ and upon this his 
crimes are recorded. To be precise, he has 
two such sheets. One is called his Company 
sheet, and the other his Regimental sheet. 
His Company sheet contains a record of every 
misdeed for which he has been brought before 
his Company Commander. His Regimental 
sheet is a more select document, and contains 
only the more noteworthy of his achievements 
— crimes so interesting that they have to be 
communicated to the Commanding Officer. 

However, this morning we are concerned 
only with Company conduct-sheets. It is 
7.30 A.M., and the Company Commander is 
sitting in judgment, with a little pile of yellow 
Army forms before him. He picks up the 
first of these, and reads — 

^^ Private Dunshie. While on active service, 
refusinp to obey an order. Lance-Corporal 
Ness!"^ 

The figure upon the prisoner's right sud- 
denly becomes animated. Lance-Corporal 
Ness, taking a deep breath, and fixing his 
eyes resolutely on the whitewashed wall above 
the Captain's head, recites — 

' ' Sirr, at four p.m. on the f uf th unst. I was 
in charge of a party told off for tae scrub the 
floor of Room Nummer Seeventeen. I or- 
dered the prisoner tae scrub. He refused. 
I warned him. He again refused. ' ' 



28 THE PIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

Click ! Lance-Corporal Ness has run down. 
He has just managed the sentence in a 
breath. 

' ^ Corporal Mackay ! ' ' 

The figure upon Lance-Corporal Ness's 
right stiffens, and inflates itself. 

*^Sirr, on the fufth unst. I was Orderly 
Sergeant. At aboot four-thirrty p.m., Lance- 
Corporal Ness reported this man tae me for re- 
fusing for tae obey an order. I confined him. ' ' 

The Captain turns to the prisoner. 

^^What have you to say, Private Dun- 
shie?" 

Private Dunshie, it appears, has a good 
deal to say. 

^^I jined the Airmy for tae fight they Ger- 
mans, and no for tae be learned tae scrub 
floors '^ 

**Sirr!" suggests the Sergeant-Ma jor in his 
ear. 

*^Sirr," amends Private Dunshie reluc- 
tantly. '^I was no in the habit of scrubbin' 
the floor mysel' where I stay in Glesca'; and 
ma wife would be affronted ' ' 

But the Captain looks up. He has heard 
enough. 

*^Look here, Dunshie," he says. *'Glad to 
hear you want to fight the Germans. So do 
L So do we all. All the same, we've got a 
lot of dull jobs to do first.'' (Captain Blaikie 
has the reputation of being the most mono- 
syllabic man in the British Army.) *^ Coals, 
and floors, and fatigues like that: they are 



CEIME 29 

your job. I have mine too. Kept me up till 
two this morning. But the point is this. You 
have refused to obey an order. Very seri- 
ous, that. Most serious crime a soldier can 
commit. If you start arguing now about 
small things, where will you be when the big 
orders come along — eh I Must learn to obey. 
Soldier now, whatever you were a month ago. 
So obey all orders like a shot. Watch me 
next time I get one. No disgrace, you Iniow ! 
Ought to be a soldier's pride, and all that. 
Seer' 

** Yes — sirr," replies Private Dunshie, with 
less truculence. 

The Captain glances down at the paper 
before him. 

** First time you tave come before me. 
Admonished ! ' ' 

* ^ Eight turn ! Quick march ! ' ' thunders the 
Sergeant-Ma j or. 

The procession clumps out of the room. 
The Captain turns to his disciple. 

*^ That's my homely and paternal tap," he 
observes. *^For first offenders only. That 
chap's all right. Soon find out it's no good 
fussing about your rights as a true-born 
British elector in the Army. Sergeant- 
Major!" 

^^Sirrl" 

^^ Private McNulty!" 

After the usual formalities, enter Private 
McNulty and escort. Private McNulty is a 
small scared-looking man with a dirty face. 



30 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

'^Private McNulty, sirr!" annonnces the 
Sergeant-Ma j or to the Company Commander, 
with the air of a popular lecturer on entom- 
ology placing a fresh insect under the micro- 
scope. 

Captain BlaiMe addresses the shivering 
culprit — 

'^Private McNulty; charged with destroy- 
ing Government property. Corporal Mather ! ' ' 

Corporal Mather clears his throat, and 
assuming the wooden expression and fish- 
like gaze common to all public speakers 
who have learned their oration by heart, 
begins — 

^'Sirr, on the night of the sixth inst. I was 
Orderly Sergeant. Going round the pris- 
oner's room about the hour of nine-thirty I 
noticed that his three biscuits had been cut 
and slashed, appariently with a knife or other 
instrument. ' ' 

^^Whatdidyoudor' 

**Sirr, I inquired of the men in the room 
who was it had gone for to do this. Sirr, 
they said it was the prisoner. ' ' 

Two witnesses are called. Both certify, 
casting grieved and virtuous glances at the 
prisoner, that this outrage upon the property 
of His Majesty was the work of Private 
McNulty. 

To the unsophisticated Bobby Little this 
charge appears rather a frivolous one. If 
you may not cut or slash a biscuit, what 
are you to do with it I Swallow it whole? 



CRIME 31 

<< Private McNultyT' queries the Captain. 

Private McNulty, in a voice which is shrill 
with righteous indignation, gives the some- 
what unexpected answer — 

* ^ Sirr, I plead! guilty ! ' ' 

' ' Guilty — eh ? You did it, then ? ' ' 
'^Yes, sir.'' 
**Whyr' 

This is what Private McNulty is waiting 
for. 

* ^ The men in that room, sirr, ' ' he announces 
indignantly, ^^ appear tae look on me as a sort 
of body that can be treated onyways. They 
go for tae aggravate me. I was sittin' on my 
bed, with my knife in my hand, cutting a 
piece bacca and interfering with naebody, 
when they all commenced tae fling biscuits 
at me. I was keepin' them off as weel as 
I could; but havin' a knife in my hand, I'll 
no deny but what I gave twa three of them 
a bit cut. ' ' 

^^Is this true?" asks the Captain of the 
first witness, curtly. 

*^Yes, sir." 

* ' You saw the men throwing biscuits at the 
prisoner?" 

^^Yes, sir." 

*^He was daen' it himsel'!" proclaims Pri- 
vate McNulty. 

^^This true!" 

*^Yes, sir." 

The Captain addresses the other witness. 

* ' You doing it too ? ' ' 



9 9 



32 THE FIRST HUNDEED TH0USA:N"D 

**Yes, sir.'' 

The Captain tnrns again to the prisoner. 

*^Why didn't you lodge a complaint? 
(The schoolboy code does not obtain in the 
Army.) 

^'I did, sir. I tellt" — indicating Corporal 
Mather with an elbow — ^*this genelman 
here. ' ' 

Corporal Mather cannot help it. He swells 
perceptibly. But swift puncture awaits 
him. 

^^ Corporal Mather, why didn't you mention 
this?" 

*'I didna think it affected the crime, sir." 

*^Not your business to think. Only to 
make a straightforward charge. Be very 
careful in future. You other two ' ' — the 
witnesses come guiltily to attention — ^^I 
shall talk to your platoon sergeant about 
you. Not going to have Government property 
knocked about!" 

Bobby Little's eyebrows, willy-nilly, have 
been steadily rising during the last five min- 
utes. He knows the meaning of red tape 
now! 

Then comes sentence. 

^< Private McNulty, you have pleaded guilty 
to a charge of destro^dng Government prop- 
erty, so you go before the Commanding Offi- 
cer. Don't suppose you'll be punished, beyond 
paying for the damage." 

** Eight turn! Quick march!" chants the 
Sergeant-Ma j or. 



CEIME 33. 

The downtrodden McNulty disappears, with 
his traducers. But Bobby Little's eyebrows 
have not been altogether thrown away upon 
his Company Commander. 

^^Got the biscuits here, Sergeant-Major?" 

*^Yes, sirr." 

*'Show them." 

The Sergeant-Major dives into a pile of 
brown blankets, and presently extracts three 
small brown mattresses, each two feet square. 
These appear to have been stabbed in several 
places with a knife. 

Captain Blaikie's eyes twinkle, and he 
chuckles to his now scarlet-faced junior — 

*^More biscuits in heaven and earth than 
ever came out of Huntley and Palmer's, my 
son ! Private Robb ! ' ' 

Presently Private Eobb stands at the table. 
He is a fresh-faced, well-set-up youth, with a 
slightly receding chin and a most dejected 
manner. 

^'Private Rohh/' reads the Captain. 
*^ While on active service, drunk and singing 
in Wellington Street about nine p.m. on Sat- 
urday, the sixth. Sergeant Garrett!" 

The proceedings follow their usual course, 
except that in this case some of the evidence 
is ^* documentary" — put in in the form of a 
report from the sergeant of the Military 
Police who escorted the melodious Eobb home 
to bed. 

The Captain addresses the prisoner. 

*^ Private Robb, this is the second time. 



34 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAISTD 

Sorry — very sorry. In all otlier ways you 
are doing* well. Very keen and promising 
soldier. Why is it — eh T ' 

The contrite Eobb hangs his head. His 
judge continues — 

^'I'U tell you. You haven't found out yet 
how much you can hold. That itT' 

The prisoner nods assent. 

<^ "Well — find out! See! It's one of the 
first things a young man ought to learn. Very 
valuable piece of information. I know my- 
self, so I'm safe. Want you to do the same. 
Every man has a different limit. What did 
you have on Saturday?" 

Private Eobb reflects. 

*^Five pints, sirr," he announces. 

*^Well, next time try three, and then you 
won't go serenading policemen. As it is, 
you will have to go before the Commanding 
Officer and get punished. Want to go to the 
front, don't you?" 

'*Yes, sirr." Private Eobb's dismal fea- 
tures flush. 

*^Well, mind this. We all want to go, 
but we can't go till every man in the battalion 
is efficient. You want to be the man who 
kept the rest from going to the front — 
eh?" 

*^No, sirr, I do not." 

**A11 right, then. Next Saturday night 
say to yourself: ^Another pint, and I keep 
the Battalion back!' If you do that, you'll 
come back to barracks sober, like a decent 



CEIME 35 

chap. That ^11 do. Don't salute with your 
cap off. Next man, Sergeant-Major!^' 

^*Good boy, that," remarks the Captain to 
Bobby Little, as the contrite Eobb is removed. 
^^Keen as mustard. But his high-water mark 
for beer is somewhere in his boots. All right, 
now IVe scared him.'' 

*^Last prisoner, sirr," announces the Ser- 
geant-Ma j or. 

'^Glad to hear it. H'm! Private McQueen 
again ! ' ' 

Private McQueen is an unpleasant-looking 
creature, with a drooping red moustache and 
a cheese-coloured complexion. His misdeeds 
are recited. Having been punished for mis- 
conduct early in the week, he has piled Pelion 
on Ossa by appearing fighting drunk at de- 
faulters' parade. From all accounts he has 
livened up that usually decorous assemblage 
considerably. . 

After the corroborative evidence, the Cap- 
tain asks his usual question of the prisoner — 

*^ Anything to say I" 

*^No," growls Private McQueen. 

The Captain takes up the prisoner's con- 
duct-sheet, reads it through, and folds it up 
deliberately. 

*^I am going to ask the Commanding Officer 
to discharge you, ' ' he says ; and there is noth- 
ing homely or paternal in his speech now. 
*^ Can't make out why men like you join the 
Army — especially this Army. Been a nui- 
sance ever since you came here. Drunk — 



36 THE FIRST HUISTDEED THOUSAND 

beastly drunk — four times in three weeks. 
Always dirty and insubordinate. Always try- 
ing to stir Tip trouble among the young sol- 
diers. Been in the army before, have n 't you 1 ^ ' 

^^No." 

*^ That's not true. Can always tell an old 
soldier on parade. Fact is, you have either 
deserted or been discharged as incorrigible. 
Going to be discharged as incorrigible again. 
Keeping the regiment back, that's why: that's 
a real crime. Go home, and explain that you 
were turned out of the King's Army because 
you weren't worthy of the honour of staying 
in. When decent men see that people like 
you have no place in this regiment, perhaps 
they will see that this regiment is just the 
place for them. Take him away. ' ' 

Private McQueen shambles out of the room 
for the last time in his life. Captain Blaikie, 
a little exhausted by his own unusual loqua- 
city, turns to Bobby Little with a contented 
sigh. 

^^ That's the last of the shysters," he says. 
^^Been weeding them out for six weeks. Now 
I have got rid of that nobleman I can look the 
rest of the Company in the face. Come to 
breakfast ! " 



VI 

THE LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PEESIANS 

One's first days as a newly- joined subaltern 
are very like one's first days at school. The 
feeling is jnst the same. There is the same 
natural shyness, the same reverence for people 
who afterwards turn out to be of no conse- 
quence whatsoever, and the same fear of 
transgressing the Laws of the Medes and Per- 
sians — regimental traditions and conventions 
— which alter not. 

Dress, for instance. ^*Does one wear a 
sword on parade?" asks the tyro of himself 
his first morning. **I'll put it on, and chance 
it." He invests himself in a monstrous clay- 
more and steps on to the barrack square. Not 
an officer in sight is carrying anything more 
lethal than a light cane. There is just time 
to scuttle back to quarters and disarm. 

Again, where should one sit at meal-times? 
We had supposed that the CO. would be en- 
throned at the head of the table, with a major 
sitting on his right and left, like Cherubim 
and Seraphim; while the rest disposed them- 



38 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

selves in a descending scale of .greatness until 
it came down to persons like ourselves at the 
very foot. But the CO. has a disconcerting 
habit of sitting absolutely anywhere. He 
appears to be just as happy between two Sec- 
ond Lieutenants as between Cherubim and 
Seraphim. Again, we note that at breakfast 
each officer upon entering sits down and 
shouts loudly, to a being concealed behind a 
screen, for food, which is speedily forthcom- 
ing. Are we entitled to clamour in this per- 
emptory fashion too! Or should we creep 
round behind the screen and take what we can 
get? Or should we sit still, and wait till we 
are served? We try the last expedient first, 
and get nothing. Then we try the second, and 
are speedily convinced, by the demeanour of 
the gentleman behind the screen, that we have 
committed the worst error of which we have 
yet been guilty. 

There are other problems — saluting, for 
instance. On the parade ground this is a 
simple matter enough; for there the golden 
rule appears to be — When in doubt, salute! 
The Colonel calls up his four Company Com- 
manders. They salute. He instructs them 
to carry on this morning with coal fatigues 
and floor-scrubbing. The Company Comman- 
ders salute, and retire to their Companies, and 
call up their subalterns, who salute. They 
instruct these to carry on this morning with 
coal fatigues and floor-scrubbing. The sixteen 
subalterns salute, and retire to their platoons. 



LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PERSIANS 39 

Here they call up their Platoon Sergeants, 
who salnte. They instruct these to carry on 
this morning with coal fatigues and floor- 
scrubbing. The Platoon Sergeants salute, 
and issue commands to the rank and file. The 
rank and file, having no instructions to salute 
sergeants, are compelled, as a last resort, to 
carry on with the coal fatigues and floor- 
scrubbing themselves. You see, on parade 
saluting is simplicity itself. 

But we are not always on parade ; and then 
more subtle problems arise. Some of those 
were discussed one day by four junior officers, 
who sat upon a damp and slippery bank by a 
muddy roadside during a * ^fall-out'' in a 
route-march. The four (^ ^ reading from left to 
right," as they say in high journalistic so- 
ciety) were Second Lieutenant Little, Second 
Lieutenant Waddell, Second Lieutenant Cock- 
erell, and Lieutenant Struthers, surnamed 
** Highbrow." Bobby we know. Waddell was 
a slow-moving but pertinacious student of the 
science of war from the kingdom of Fife. 
Cockerell came straight from a crack public- 
school corps, where he had been a cadet officer ; 
so nothing in the heaven above or the earth be- 
neath was hid from him. Struthers owed his 
superior rank to the fact that in the far back 
ages, before the days of the O.T.C., he had held 
a commission in a University Corps. He was 
a scholar of his College, and was an expert in 
the art of accumulating masses of knowledge 
in quick time for examination purposes. He 



40 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

knew all the little red manuals by heart, was 
an infallible authority on buttons and badges, 
and would dip into the King's Eegulations 
or the Field Service Pocket-book as another 
man might dip into the ^* Sporting Times." 
Strange to say, he was not very good at drill- 
ing a platoon. We all know him. 

^^What do you do when you are leading a 
party along a road and meet a Staff Of&cer?" 
asked Bobby Little. 

'^Make a point,'' replied Cockerell patron- 
isingly, **of saluting all persons wearing red 
bands round their hats. They may not be 
entitled to it, but it tickles their ribs and gets 
you the reputation of being an intelligent 
young officer." 

^^But I say," announced Waddell plain- 
tively, ''I saluted a man with a red hat the 
other day, and he turned out to be a Military 
Policeman ! ' ' 

*^As a matter of fact," announced the pun- 
dit Struthers, after the laughter had subsided, 
*'you need not salute anybody. No compli- 
ments are paid on active service, and we are 
on active service now. ' ' 

*^Yes, but suppose some one salutes you?^' 
objected the conscientious Bobby Little. 
'^You must salute back again, and some- 
times you don't know how to do it. The 
other day I was bringing the company back 
from the ranges and we met a company from 
another battalion — the Mid Mudshires, I 
think. Before I knew where I was the fel- 



LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PEESIANS 41 

low in charge called them to attention and 
then gave ^Eyes right!' " 

*^What did yon do?" asked Struthers 
anxiously. 

^'I hadn't time to do anything except grin, 
and say, *Good morning!' " confessed Bobby 
Little. 

^*You were perfectly right," announced 
Struthers, and Cockerell murmured assent. 

**Are you sure?" persisted Bobby Little. 
'*As I passed the tail of their company one 
of their subs turned to another and said quite 
loud, *My"TTod, what swine!' " 

^^ Showed his rotten ignorance," commented 
Cockerell. 

At this moment Mr. Waddell, whose 
thoughts were never disturbed by conver- 
sation around him, broke in with a ques- 
tion. 

'^What does a Tommy do," he inquired, 
'4f he meets an officer wheeling a wheel- 
barrow?" 

**Who is wheeling the barrow," inquired 
the meticulous Struthers — ^Hhe officer or the 
Tommy!" 

**The Tommy, of course!" replied Waddell 
in quite a shocked voice. '^What is he to do? 
If he tries to salute he will upset the barrow, 
you know." 

'^He turns his head sharply towards the 
officer for six paces, ' ' explained the ever-ready 
Struthers. ^^When a soldier is not in a posi- 
tion to salute in the ordinary way — 



>> 



42 THE FIRST HUNDEEB THOUSAND 

''I say,'' inquired Bobby Little ratber 
shyly, ^^do you ever look the other way when 
you meet a Tommy T' 

**How do you mean?'' asked everybody. 

**Well, the other day I met one walking out 
with his girl along the road, and I felt so 
blooming de trop that -" 

Here the * ^fall-in" sounded, and this deli- 
cate problem was left unsolved. But Mr. 
Waddell, who liked to get to the bottom of 
things, continued to ponder these matters 
as he marched. He mistrusted the omnis- 
cience of Struthers and the superficial infalli- 
bility of the self-satisfied Cockerell. Accord- 
ingly, after consultation with that eager 
searcher after knowledge, Second Lieutenant 
Little, he took the laudable but fatal step of 
carrying his difficulties to one Captain Wag- 
staffe, the humorist of the Battalion. 

Wagstaffe listened with an appearance of 
absorbed interest. Finally he said — 

*' These are very important questions, Mr. 
Waddell, and you acted quite rightly in laying 
them before me. I will consult the Deputy 
Assistant Instructor in Military Etiquette, 
and will obtain a written answer to your 
inquiries. ' ' 

*^0h, thanks awfully, sir!" exclaimed 
Waddell. 

The result of Captain Wagstaffe's applica- 
tion to the mysterious official just designated 
was forthcoming next day in the form of a 
neatly typed document. It was posted in the 



LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PEESIANS 43 

Ante-room (the CO. being out at dinner), and 
ran as follows; — 



SALUTES 

Young Officees, Hints for the Guidance of 

The following is the correct procedure for a 
young^ officer in charge of an armed party upon 
meeting — 

(a) A Staff Officer riding a bicycle. 

Correct Procedure. — If marching at attention, 

order your men to march at ease and to light 

cigarettes and eat bananas. Then, having fixed 

bayonets, give the order: Across the road — - 
straggle I 

(&) A funeral. 

Correct Procedure. — Strike up Tipperary, and 
look the other way. 

(c) A General Officer, who strolls across your Bar- 
rack Square precisely at the moment when you and 
your Platoon have got into mutual difficulties. 

Correct Procedure. — Lie down flat upon your face 
(directing your platoon to do the same), cover your 
head with gravel, and pretend you are not there. 

Special Cases 

(a.) A soldier, wheeling a wheelbarrow and bal- 
ancing a swill-tub on his head, meets an officer walk- 
ing out in review dress. 

Correct Procedure. — The soldier will immediately 
cant the swill-tub to an angle of forty-five degrees, 



44 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

at a distance of one and a half inclies above his right 
eyebrow. (In the case of Rifle Regiments the sol- 
dier will balance the swill-tnb on his nose.) He will 
then invite the officer, by a smart movement of the 
left ear, to seat himself on the wheelbarrow. 

Correct Acknowledgment, — The officer will com- 
ply, placing his feet npon the right and left hubs of 
the wheel respectively, with the ball of the toe in each 
case at a distance of one inch (when serving abroad, 
2% centimetres) from the centre of gravity of the 
wheelbarrow. (In the case of Rifle Regiments the 
officer will tie his feet in a knot at the back of his 
neck.) The soldier will then advance six paces, after 
which the officer will dismount and go home and 
have a bath. 

(&) A soldier, with his arm round a lady's waist 
in the gloaming, encounters an officer. 

Correct Procedure. — The soldier will salute with 
his disengaged arm. The lady will administer a sharp 
tap with the end of her umbrella to the officer's tunic, 
at point one inch above the lowest button. 

Correct Acknowledgment. — The officer will take 
the end of the umbrella firmly in his right hand, 
and will require the soldier to introduce him to the 
lady. He will then direct the soldier to double back 
to barracks. 

(c) A party of soldiers, seated upon the top of a 
transport waggon, see an officer passing at the side 
of the road. 

Correct Procedure. — The senior IST.C.O. (or if no 
N.C.O. be present, the oldest soldier) will call the 
men to attention, and the party, taking their time 
from the right, will spit upon the officer's head in a 
Boldier-like manner. 



LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PERSIANS 45 

Correct Acknowledgment. — The officer will break 
into a smart trot. ; 

{d) K soldier, driving an officer's motor-car without 
the knowledge of the officer, encounters the officer in 
a narrow country lane. 

Correct Procedure. — The soldier will open the 
throttle to its full extent and run the officer over. 

Correct Acknowledgment. — No acknowledgment 
is required. 

Note. — -None of the above compliments will he 
paid upon active service. 

Unfortunately the Colonel came home from 
dining out sooner than was expected, and 
found this outrageous document still upon the 
notice-board. But he was a good Colonel. 
He merely remarked approvingly — 

**H'm. Quite so! Non semper arcum 
tendit Apollo. It's just as well to keep smil- 
ing these days.'' 

Nevertheless, Mr. Waddell made a point in 
future, when in need of information, of seek- 
ing the same from a less inspired source than 
Captain Wagstaffe. 

There was another Law of the Medes and 
Persians with which our four friends soon 
became familiar — that which governs the re- 
lations of the various ranks to one another. 
Great Britain is essentially the home of the 
chaperon. We pride ourselves, as a nation, 
upon the extreme care with which we protect 



46 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

our young gentlewomen from contaminating 
influences. But the fastidious attention which 
we bestow upon our national maidenhood is 
as nothing in comparison with the protective 
commotion with which we surround that 
shrinking sensitive plant, Mr. Thomas Atkins. 

Take etiquette and deportment. If a soldier 
wishes to speak to an officer, an introduction 
must be effected by a sergeant. Let us sup- 
pose that Private M^Splae, in the course of 
a route-march, develops a blister upon his 
great toe. He begins by intimating the fact 
to the nearest lance-corporal. The lance- 
corporal takes the news to the platoon ser- 
geant, who informs the platoon commander, 
who may or may not decide to take the opin- 
ion of his company commander in the matter. 
Anyhow, when the hobbling warrior finally 
obtains permission to fall out and alleviate 
his distress, a corporal goes with him, for fear 
he should lose himself, or his boot — it is 
wonderful what Thomas can lose when he 
sets his mind to it — or, worst crime of all, 
his rifle. 

Again, if two privates are detailed to empty 
the regimental ashbin, a junior N.C.O. ranges 
them in line, calls them to attention, and 
marches them off to the scene of their labours, 
decently and in order. If a soldier obtains 
leave to go home on furlough for the week- 
end, he is collected into a party, and, after 
being inspected to see that his buttons are 
clean, his hair properly cut, and his nose 



LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PEESIANS 47 

correctly blown, is marched off to tlie sta- 
tion, where a ticket is provided for him, 
and he and his fellow-wayfarers are safely 
tucked into a third-smoker labelled *^ Mili- 
tary Party.'' (No wonder he sometimes gets 
lost on arriving at Waterloo!) In short, if 
there is a job to be done, the senior soldier 
present chaperons somebody else while he 
does it. 

This system has been attacked on the 
ground that it breeds loss of self-reliance 
and initiative. As a matter of fact, the re- 
sult is almost exactly the opposite. Under 
its operation a soldier rapidly acquires the 
art of placing himself under the command 
of his nearest superior in rank; but at the 
same time he learns with equal rapidity to 
take command himself if no superior be pres- 
ent — no bad thing in times of battle and 
sudden death, when shrapnel is whistling, 
and promotion is taking place with grim and 
unceasing automaticity. 

This principle is extended, too, to the 
enforcement of law and order. If Private 
M'Sumph is insubordinate or riotous, there 
is never any question of informal correction 
or summary justice. News of the incident 
wends its way upward, by a series of prop- 
erly regulated channels, to the officer in 
command. Presently, by the same route, 
an order comes back, and in a twinkling the 
offender finds himself taken under arrest 
and marched off to the guard-room by two 



48 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

of Ms own immediate associates. (One of 
them may be his own rear-rank man.) But 
no officer or non-commissioned officer ever 
lays a finger on him. The penalty for 
striking a superior officer is so severe that 
the law decrees, very wisely, that a soldier 
must on no account ever be arrested by 
any save men of his own rank. If Private 
M'Sumph, while being removed in custody, 
strikes Private Tosh upon the nose and 
kicks Private Cosh upon the shin, to the effu- 
sion of blood, no great harm is done — ex- 
cept to the lacerated Cosh and Tosh; but 
if he had smitten an intruding officer in 
the eye, his punishment would have been dire 
and grim. So, though we may call military 
law cumbrous and grandmotherly, there is 
sound sense and real mercy at the root 
of it. 

But there is one Law of the Medes and Per- 
sians which is sensibly relaxed these days. 
We, the newly joined, have always been given 
to understand that whatever else you do, you 
must never, never betray any interest in your 
profession — in short, talk shop — at Mess. 
But in our Mess no one ever talks anything 
else. At luncheon, we relate droll anecdotes 
concerning our infant platoons; at tea, we 
explain, to any one who will listen, exactly 
how we placed our sentry line in last night's 
operations; at dinner, we brag about our 
Company musketry returns, and quote un- 



LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PEESIAISTS 49 

truthful extracts from our buit registers. At 
breakfast, every one has a newspaper, which 
he props before him and reads, generally 
aloud. We exchange observations upon the 
war news. We criticise von Kluck, and speak 
kindly of Joffre. We note, daily, that there 
is nothing to report on the Allies' right, and 
wonder regularly how the Eussians are really 
getting on in the Eastern theatre. 

Then, after observing that the only sports- 
man in the combined forces of the German 
Empire is — or was — the captain of the 
Emden, we come to the casualty lists- — and 
there is silence. 

Englishmen are fond of saying, with the 
satisfied air of men letting o:ff a really excel- 
lent joke, that every one in Scotland knows 
every one else. As we study the morning's 
Eoll of Honour, we realise that never was a 
more truthful jest uttered. There is not a 
name in the list of those who have died for 
Scotland which is not familiar to us. If we 
did not know the man — too often the boy — 
himself, we knew his people, or at least where 
his home was. In England, if you live in 
Kent, and you read that the Northumberland 
Fusiliers have been cut up or the Duke of 
Cornwall's Light Infantry badly knocked 
about, you merely sigh that so many more 
good men should have fallen. Their names 
are glorious names, but they are only names. 
But never a Scottish regiment comes under 
fire but the whole of Scotland feels it. Scot- 



50 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

land is small enough to know all lier sons by 
heart. You may live in Berwickshire, and 
the man who has died may have come from 
Skye; but his name is quite familiar to you. 
Big England's sorrow is national; little Scot- 
land's is personal. 

Then we pass on to our letters. "Many of 
us — particularly the senior officers — have 
news direct from the trenches — scribbled 
scraps torn out of field-message books. We 
get constant tidings of the Old Regiment. 
They marched thirty-five miles on such a 
day; they captured a position after being 
under continuous shell fire for eight hours on 
another; they were personally thanked by 
the Field-Marshal on another. Oh, we shall 
have to work hard to get up to that standard ! 

*^They want more officers," announces the 
Colonel. ^^ Naturally, after the time they've 
been having ! But they must go to the Third 
Battalion for them: that's the proper place. 
I will not have them coming here: I've told 
them so at Headquarters. The Service Bat- 
talions simply must be led by the officers 
who have trained them if they are to have 
a Chinaman's chance when we go out. I 
shall threaten to resign if they try any more 
of their tricks. That'll frighten 'em! Even 
dug-outs like me are rare and valuable objects 
at present." 

The Company Commanders murmur assent 
— on the whole sympathetically. Anxious 
though they are to get upon business terms 



LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PEESIANS 51 

with the Kaiser, they are loath to abandon 
the unkempt bnt sturdy companies over 
which they have toiled so hard, and which 
now, though destitute of blossom, are rich in 
promise of fruit. But the senior subalterns 
look up hopefully. Their lot is hard. Some 
of them have been in the Service for ten 
years, yet they have been left behind. They 
command no companies. *^Here," their faces 
say, *^we are merely marking time while 
others learn. Send usF' 

• ••••• 

However, though they have taken no offi- 
cers yet, signs are not wanting that they will 
take some soon. To-day each of us was pre- 
sented with a small metal disc. 

Bobby Little examined his curiously. Upon 
the face thereof was stamped, in ragged, ir- 
regular capitals — 




**What is this forT' he asked. 
Captain Wagstaffe answered. 
**You wear it round your neck,'' he said. 



52 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

Our four friends, once bitten, regarded the 
humorist suspiciously. 

*^Are you rotting us?^' asked Waddell 
cautiously. 

^^No, my son," replied Wagstaffe, **I am 
not." 

*^ What is it for, then?" 

*^It's called an Identity Disc. Every sol- 
dier on active service wears one." 

^^Why should the idiots put one's religion 
on the thing?" inquired Master Cockerell, 
scornfully regarding the letters *^C. of E." 
upon his disc. 

Wagstaffe regarded him curiously. 

* ' Think it over, ' ' he suggested. 



VII 

SHOOTIN^G STEAIGHT 

''What for is the wee felly gaun' tae show us 
puctures 1 ' ' 

Second Lientenant Bobby Little, assisted 
by a sergeant and two unhandy privates, is 
engaged in propping a large and highly- 
coloured work of art, mounted on a rough 
wooden frame and supported on two unsteady 
legs, against the wall of the barrack square. 
A half -platoon of A Company, seated upon an 
adjacent bank, chewing grass and enjoying 
the mellow autumn sunshine, regard the 
swaying masterpiece with frank curiosity. 
For the last fortnight they have been en- 
gaged in imbibing the science of musketry. 
They have learned to hold their rifles cor- 
rectly, sitting, kneeling, standing, or lying; 
to bring their backsights and foresights into 
an undeviating straight line with the base 
of the bulPs-eye; and to press the trigger 
in the manner laid down in the Musketry 
Eegulations — without wriggling the body 
or ''pulling-off." 



54: THE FIEST HUISTDEED THOUSAND 

They have also learned to adjnst their 
sights, to perform the loading motions rapidly 
and correctly, and to obey such simple com- 
mands as — 

'^At them twa weemen" — ofi&cers' wives, 
probably — ^^ proceeding from left tae right 
across the square, at five hundred yairds^' 
— they are really about fifteen yards away, 
covered with confusion — ^'five roonds, fire!'* 

But as yet they have discharged no shots 
from their rifles. It has all been make-believe, 
with dummy cartridges, and fictitious ranges, 
and snapping triggers. To be quite frank, 
they are getting just a little tired of musketry 
training — forgetting for the moment that a 
soldier who cannot use his rifle is merely an 
expense to his country and a free gift to the 
enemy. But the sight of Bobby Little's art 
gallery cheers them up. They contemplate 
the picture with childlike interest. It resem- 
bles nothing so much as one of those pleasing 
but imaginative posters by the display of 
which our Eailway Companies seek to attract 
the tourist to the less remunerative portions 
of their systems. 

*^What for is the wee felly gaun' tae show 
us puctures V^ 

Thus Private Mucklewame. A pundit in 
the rear rank answers him. 

^^Yon's Gairmany." 

^^Gairmany ma auntie!" retorts Muckle- 
wame. ** There's no chumney-stalks in Gair- 
many." 



SHOOTING STEAIGHT 55 

*^ Maybe no; but there's wundmiills. See 
the wundmull there — on yon wee knowe ! ' ' 

i i There a pit-heid I ' ' exclaims another voice. 
This homely spectacle is received with an 
affectionate sigh. Until two months ago more 
than half the platoon had never been out of 
sight of at least half a dozen. 

* * See the kirk, in ablow the brae ! " says 
some one else, in a pleased voice. ^^It has a 
nock in the steeple. ' ' 

*^I hear they Gairmans send signals wi' 
their Mrk-nocks," remarks Private M^Mick- 
ing, who, as one of the Battalion signallers — 
or ^^ buzzers," as the vernacular has it, in imi- 
tation of the buzzing of the Morse instrument 
— regards himself as a sort of junior Staff 
Officer. **They jist semaphore with the 

haunds of the nock " 

^*I wonder,'' remarks the dreamy voice of 
Private M^ Leary, the humorist of the platoon, 
*^did ever a Gairman buzzer pit the ba' 
through his ain goal in a fitba' match?" 

This irrelevant reference to a regrettable 
incident of the previous Saturday afternoon 
is greeted with so much laughter that Bobby 
Little, who has at length fixed his picture in 
position, whips round. 

* * Less talking there ! " he announces severely, 
*^or I shall have to stand you all at attention ! " 

There is immediate silence — there is noth- 
ing the matter with Bobby's discipline — and 
the outraged M^Micking has to content him- 
self with a homicidal glare in the direction of 



56 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

M^Leary, who is now hanging virtuously upon 
his officer's lips. 

''This," proceeds Bobby Little, '*is what 
is known as a landscape target." 

He indicates the picture, which, apparently 
overcome by so much public notice, promptly 
falls flat upon its face. A fatigue party under 
the sergeant hurries to its assistance. 

''It is intended," resumes Bobby presently, 
"to teach you — us — to become familiar with 
various kinds of country, and to get into the 
habit of picking out conspicuous features of 
the landscape, and getting them by heart, 
and — er — so on. I want you all to study 
this picture for three minutes. Then I shall 
face you about and ask you to describe it 
to me." 

After three minutes of puckered brows and 
hard breathing the squad is turned to its rear, 
and the examination proceeds. 

"Lance-Corporal Ness, what did you notice 
in the foreground of the picture?" 

Lance-Corporal Ness gazes fiercely before 
him. He has noticed a good deal, but can 
remember nothing. Moreover, he has no very 
clear idea what a foreground may be. 

"Private Mucklewamef " 

Again silence, while the rotund Muckle- 
wame perspires in the throes of mental ex- 
ertion. 

"Private Wemyss?" 

No answer. 

"Private M'Micking?" 



SHOOTING STRAIGHT 57 

The '* buzzer" smiles feebly, bnt says 
nothing. 

'^Well," — desperately — *' Sergeant An- 
gus ! Tell them what you noticed in the fore- 
ground. ' ' 

Sergeant Angus {floruit a.d. 1895) springs 
smartly to attention, and replies, with the 
instant obedience of the old soldier — 

*^The sky, sirr." 

^^Not in the foreground, as a rule," replies 
Bobby Little gently. ** About turn again, all 
of you, and we '11 have another try. ' ' 

In his next attempt Bobby abandons in- 
dividual catechism. 

**Now," he begins, ^'what conspicuous ob- 
jects do we notice on this target? In the 
foreground I can see a low knoll. To the 
left I see a windmill. In the distance is a 
tall chimney. Half -right is a church. How 
would that church be marked on a map I * ' 

No reply, 

*^Well," explains Bobby, anxious to parade 
a piece of knowledge which he only acquired 
himself Si day or two ago, *^ churches are 
denoted in maps by a cross, mounted on a 
square or circle, according as the church has 
a square tower or a steeple. What has this 
church got ? ' ' 

*^A nock!" bellow the platoon, with stun- 
ning enthusiasm. (All but Private M^Mick- 
ing, that is.) 

^^A clock, sir," translates the sergeant, 
sotto voce. 



58 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

**A clock? All right: but -what I wanted 
was a steeple. Then, farther away, we can see 
a mine, a winding brook, and a house, with 
a wall in front of it. Who can see themf 

To judge by the collective expression of the 
audience, no one does. Bobby ploughs on. 

*^Upon the skyline we notice — Squa'd, 

Captain WagstafPe has strolled up. He is 
second in command of A Company. Bobby 
explains to him modestly what he has been 
trying to do. 

* * Yes, I heard you, ' ' says Wagstaff e. ^ ' You 
take a breather, while I carry on for a bit. 
Squad, stand easy, and tell me what you can 
see on that target. Lance-Corporal Ness, 
show me a pit-head. ' ' 

Lance-Corporal Ness steps briskly forward 
and lays a grubby forefinger on Bobby's 
*^mine." 

^^ Private Mucklewame, show me a burn.'/ 

The brook is at once identified. 

^* Private M^Leary, shut your eyes and tell 
me what there is just to the right of the 
windmill. ' ' 

^^A wee knowe, sirr," replies M^Leary at 
once. Bobby recognises his *4ow knolP' — 
also the fact that it is no use endeavouring 
to instruct the unlettered until you have 
learned their language. 

<<Yery good!" says Captain Wagstaife. 
*^Now we will go on to what is known 
as Description and Eecognition of Targets. 



SHOOTmG STEAIGHT 59 

Supposing I had sent one of you forward into 
that landscape as a scout. — By the way, what 
is a scout f 

Dead silence, as usual. 

**Come along! Tell me, somebody! Pri- 
vate MucklewameT' 

^^They gang oot in a procession on Setter- 
day efternoons, sirr, in short breeks,'' replies 
Mucklewame promptly. 

^*A procession is the very last thing a scout 
goes out in!'^ raps Wagstaife. (It is plain 
to Mucklewame that the Captain has never 
been in Wishaw, but he does not argue the 
point.) ^^ Private M^Micking, what is a 
scout r' 

'*A spy, sirr,'' replies the omniscient one. 

*^Well, that's better; but there's a big dif- 
ference between the two. What is it I " 

This is a poser. Several men know the 
difference, but feel quite incapable of explain- 
ing it. The question runs down the front 
rank. Finally it is held up and disposed of 
by one Mearns (from Aberdeen). 

**A spy, sirr, gets mair money than ai 
scout. ' ' 

^^Does he?" asks Captain Wagstaffe, smil- 
ing. *^Well, I am not in a position to say. 
But if he does, he earns it! Why!" 

*' Because if he gets catched he gets shot," 
volunteers a rear-rank man. 

' ' Right. Why is he shot % ' ' 

This conundrum is too deep for the squad. 
The Captain has to answer it himself. 



60 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

*' Because he is not in uniform, and cannot 
therefore be treated as an ordinary prisoner 
of war. So never go scouting in your night- 
shirt, Mucklewame ! " 

The respectable Mucklewame blushes deeply 
at this outrageous suggestion, but Wagstaffe 
proceeds — 

^^Now, supposing I sent you out scouting, 
and you discovered that over there — some- 
where in the middle of this field'' — he lays a 
finger on the field in question — *^ there was 
a fold in the ground where a machine-gun 
section was concealed: what would you do 
when you got back I" 

*^I would tell you, sirr,'' replied Private 
M^Micking politely. 

^^Tell me what?" 

*^That they was there, sirr." 

'^Wherer' 

' ' In yon place. ' ' 

*^How would you indicate the position of 
the place?" 

*^I would pint it oot with ma finger, 
sirr. ' ' 

^^ Invisible objects half a mile away are not 
easily pointed out with the finger," Captain 
Wagstaffe mentions. ^^Lance-Corporal Ness, 
how would you describe it?" 

*^I would tak' you there, sirr." 

^^ Thanks! But I doubt if either of us 
would come back ! Private Wemyss ? ' ' 

^^I would say, sirr, that the place was west 
of the mansion-hoose." 



SHOOTING STEAIOHT 61 

*^ There's a good deal of land west of that 
mansion-house, you know," expostulates the 
Captain gently; *^but we are getting on. 
Thompson r' 

**I would say, sirr," replies Thompson, 
puckering his brow, ^^that it was in ablow 
they trees." 

'*It would be hard to indicate the exact 
trees you meant. Trees are too common. 
You try. Corporal King." 

But Corporal King, who earned his stripes 
by reason of physical rather than intellectual 
attributes, can only contribute a lame refer- 
ence to **a bit hedge by yon dyke, where 
there's a kin' o' hole in the tairget." Wag- 
staife breaks in — 

^^Now, everybody, take some conspicuous 
and unmistakable object about the middle 
of that landscape — something which no one 
can mistake. The mansion-house will do — 
the near end. Now then — mansion-house, 
near end! Got that?" 

There is a general chorus of assent. 

*^Very well. I want you to imagine that 
the base of the mansion-house is the centre 
of a great clock-face. Where would twelve 
o'clock be?" 

The platoon are plainly tickled by this new 
round-game. They reply — 

' ' Straught up ! " 

* ^ Eight. Where is nine o 'clock 1 ' ' 

^^Overtae the left." 

<<Yery good. And so on with all the other 



62 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

hours. Now, supposing I were to say, End 
of mansion-house — six o^ clock — white gate 

— you would carry your eye straight down- 
ward, through the garden, until it encoun- 
tered the gate. I would thus have enabled 
you to recognise a very small object in a 
wide landscape in the quickest possible time. 
See the idea r' 

*'Yes, sirr." 

* ^ All right. Now for our fold in the ground. 
End of mansion-house — eight o'clock — got 
thatr' 

There is an interested murmur of assent. 

**That gives you the direction from the 
house. Now for the distance! End of 
mansion-house — eight o 'clock — ttvo finger- 
breadths — what does that give you, Lance- 
Corporal Ness?" 

*^The corrner of a field, sirr." 

** Eight. This is our field. We have 
picked it correctly out of about twenty 
fields, you see. Corner of field. In the 
middle of the field, a fold in the ground. At 
nine hundred — at the fold in the ground 

— five rounds — fire! You see the idea 
now?" 

*^Yes, sirr." 

*^Very good. Let the platoon practise de- 
scribing targets to one another, Mr. Little. 
Don't be too elaborate. Never employ either 
the clock or finger method if you can describe 
your target without. For instance: Left 
of windmill — triangular cornfield. At the 



SHOOTING STEAIGHT 63 

nearest corner — six hundred — rapid fire! is 
all you want. Carry on, Mr. Little." 

And leaving Bobby and his infant class to 
practise this new and amusing pastime, Cap- 
tain Wagstaffe strolls away across the square 
to where the painstaking Waddell is con- 
tending with another squad. 

They, too, have a landscape target — a 
different one. Before it half a dozen rifles 
stand, set in rests. Waddell has given the 
order : Four hundred — at the road, where it 
passes under the viaduct — fire! and six pri- 
vates have laid the six rifles upon the point 
indicated. Waddell and Captain Wagstaffe 
walk down the line, peering along the sights 
of the rifles. Five are correctly aligned: the 
sixth points to the spacious firmament above 
the viaduct. 

*^ Hallo!'' observes Wagstaffe. 

**This is the man's third try, sir," explains 
the harassed Waddell. *^He doesn't seem to 
be able to distinguish anything at all." 

*^ Eyesight wrong f" 

*^So he says, sir." 

*^Been a long time finding out, hasn't 
he?" 

' ' The sergeant told me, sir, ' ' confides Wad- 
dell, *^that in his opinion the man is * work- 
ing for his ticket.' " 

^^Umph!" 

**I did not quite understand the expres- 
sion, sir," continues the honest youth, **so 
I thought I would consult you. ' ' 



64 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

**It means that lie is trying to get Ms dis- 
charge. Bring him along: I'll soon find out 
whether he is skrim- shanking or not. ' ' 

Private M^Sweir is introduced, and led off 
to the lair of that hardened cynic, the Medical 
Officer. Here he is put through some simple 
visual tests. He soon finds himself out of 
his depth. It is extremely difficult to feign 
either myopia, hypermetria, or astigmatism 
if you are not acquainted with the necessary 
symptoms, and have not decided beforehand 
which (if any) of these diseases you are 
suffering from. In ^ve minutes the afflicted 
M^Sweir is informed, to his unutterable in- 
dignation, that he has passed a severe ocular 
examination with flying colours, and is forth- 
with marched back to his squad, with in- 
structions to recognise all targets in future, 
under pain of special instruction in the laws 
of optics during his leisure hours. Verily, 
in K (1) — that is the tabloid title of the 
First Hundred Thousand — the way of the 
malingerer is hard. 

Still, the seed does not always fall upon 
stony ground. On his way to inspect a third 
platoon Captain Wagstaffe passes Bobby 
Little and his merry men. They are in pairs, 
indicating targets to one another. 

Says Private Walker (oblivious of Captain 
Wagstaffe 's proximity) to his friend, Private 
M^Leary — in an affected parody of his in- 
structor's staccato utterance — 

^^At yon three Gairman spies, gaun' up a 



SHOOTING STEAIGHT 65 

close for tae despatch some wireless tele- 
graphic — fuft^ roonds — fireT' 

To which Private M^Leary, not to be out- 
done, responds — 

^^ Public hoose — in the haur- — hack o' seeven 
o'clock — twa, drams, — fower fingers- — rapidT' 



n 



From this it is a mere step to — 

*^Butt Pairty, 'shun! Forrm fourrs! 
Eight! By your left, quick marrch!" 

— on a bleak and cheerless morning in late 
October. It is not yet light; but a depressed 
party of about twenty-five are falling into line 
at the acrid invitation of two sergeants, who 
have apparently decided that the pen is 
mightier than the Lee-Enfield rifle; for each 
wears one stuck in his glengarry like an 
eagle's feather, and carries a rabbinical-look- 
ing inkhorn slung to his bosom. This literary 
pose is due to the fact that records are about 
to be taken of the performances of the Com- 
pany on the shooting-range. 

A half -awakened subaltern, who breakfasted 
at the grisly hour of a quarter-to-six, takes 
command, and the dolorous procession dis- 
appears into the gloom. 

Half an hour later the Battalion parades, 
and sets off, to the sound of music, in pursuit. 
(It is perhaps needless to state that although 
we are deficient in rifles, possess neither belts, 



66 THE PIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

pouches, nor greatcoats, and are compelled to 
attach our scanty accoutrements to our per- 
sons with ingenious contrivances of string, we 
boast a fully equipped and highly efficient 
pipe band, complete with pipers, big drummer, 
side drummers, and corybantic drum-major.) 

By eight o'clock, after a muddy tramp of 
four miles, we are assembled at the two- 
hundred-yards firing point upon Niunber 
Three Range. The range itself is little 
more than a drive cut through a pine-wood. 
It is nearly half a mile long. Across the 
far end runs a high sandy embankment, 
decorated just below the ridge with a row 
of number-boards — one for each target. Of 
the targets themselves nothing as yet is to 
be seen. 

**Now then, let's get a move on!" suggests 
the Senior Captain briskly. ^^Cockerell, ring 
up the butts, and ask Captain Wagstatfe to 
put up the targets." 

The alert Mr. Cockerell hurries to the tele- 
phone, which lives in a small white-painted 
structure like a gramophone-stand. (It has 
been left at the firing-point by the all-pro- 
viding butt-party.) He turns the call-handle 
smartly, takes the receiver out of the box, 
and begins. ... 

There is no need to describe the perform- 
ance which ensues. All telephone-users are 
familiar with it. It consists entirely of the 
word ^^ Hallo!" repeated crescendo and furi- 
oso until exhaustion supervenes. 



SHOOTING STEAIGHT 67 

Presently Mr. Cockerell reports to the Cap- 
tain— 

*^ Telephone out of order, sir.'' 

*^I never knew a range telephone that 
wasn't/' replies the Captain, inspecting the 
instrument. ^^ Still, you might give this one 
a sporting chance, anyhow. It isn't a wire- 
less telephone, you know! Corporal Kemp, 
connect that telephone for Mr. Cockerell." 

A marble-faced N.C.O. kneels solemnly 
upon the turf and raises a small iron trap- 
door — hitherto overlooked by the omniscient 
Cockerell — revealing a cavity some six inches 
deep, containing an electric plug-hole. Into 
this he thrusts the terminal of the telephone 
wire. Cockerell, scarlet in the face, watches 
him indignantly. 

Telephonic communication between firing- 
point and butts is now established. That is 
to say, whenever Mr. Cockerell rings the bell 
some one in the butts courteously rings back. 
Overtures of a more intimate nature are 
greeted either with stony silence or another 
fantasia on the bell. 

Meanwhile the captain is superintending 
firing arrangements. 

^^Are the first details ready to begin?" he 
shouts. 

*^ Quite ready, sir," runs the reply down 
the firing line. 

The Captain now comes to the telephone 
himself. He takes the receiver from Cock- 
erell with masterful assurance. 



68 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 



*^ Hallo, there!'' he calls. '^I-want to speak 
to Captain Wagstaffe." 

^^Honkle yang-yang?" inqnires a ghostly 
voice. 

*^ Captain Wagstaffe! Hurry up!" 

Presently the bell rings, and the Captain 
gets to business. 

^^That you, Wagstafe?" he inquires cheer- 
ily. *^Look here, we're going to fire Prac- 
tice Seven, Table B, — snap-shooting. I 
want you to raise all the targets for six sec- 
onds, just for sighting purposes. Do you 
understand ? ' ' 

Here the bell rings continuously for ten 
seconds. Nothing daunted, the Captain tries 
again. 

''That you, Wagstaffe? Practice Seven, 
Table B!" 

''T'chk, t'chk!" replies Captain Wagstaffe. 

''Begin by raising all the targets for six 
seconds. Then raise them six times for five 
seconds each — no, as you were ! Raise them 
five times for six seconds each. Got that? 
I say, are you there f What's that?" 

^ Przemysll'^ replies the telephone — or 
something to that effect. ^^Czestochowa! 
Krzyszkowice! Plock!" 

The Captain, now on his mettle, con- 
tinues : — 

"I want you to signal the results on the 
rear targets as the front ones go down. 
After that we will fire — oh, curse the 
thing ! ' ' 



SHOOTIISTG STEAIGHT 69 

He hastily removes the receiver, wnicli is 
emitting sounds suggestive of the buckling 
of biscuit-tins, from his ear, and lays it on 
its rest. The bell promptly begins to ring 
again. 

**Mr. Cockerell,'^ he says resignedly, 
^* double up to the butts and ask Captain 
Wagstaif e — — ' ' 

*^I'm here, old son," replies a gentle voice, 
as Captain Wagstaffe touches him upon the 
shoulder. ' ' Been here some time ! ' ' 

After mutual asperities, it is decided by 
the two Captains to dispense with the aid of 
the telephone proper, and communicate by 
bell alone. Captain Wagsta:ffe's tall figure 
strides back across the heather; the red flag 
on the butts flutters down; and we get to 
work. 

Upon a long row of waterproof sheets — 
some thirty in all — lie the firers. Beside 
each is extended the form of a sergeant or 
officer, tickling his charge's ear with inco- 
herent counsel, and imploring him, almost 
tearfully, not to get excited. 

Suddenly thirty targets spring out of the 
earth in front of us, only to disappear again 
just as we have got over our surprise. They 
are not of the usual bulPs-eye pattern, but 
are what is known as ^'figure" targets. The 
lower half is sea-green, the upper, white. In 
the centre, half on the green and half on the 
white, is a curious brown smudge. It might 
be anything, from a splash of mud to one 



70 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

of those mysterious brown-paper patterns 
which fall out of ladies' papers, but it really 
is intended to represent the head and shoulders 
of a man in khaki lying on grass and aiming 
at us. However, the British private, with his 
usual genius for misapprehension, has chris- 
tened this effigy *^the beggar in the boat." 

With equal suddenness the targets swing 
up again. Crack! An uncontrolled spirit 
has loosed off his rifle before it has reached 
his shoulder. Blistering reproof follows. 
Then, after three or four seconds, comes a 
perfect salvo all down the line. The conscien- 
tious Mucklewame, slowly raising his fore- 
sight as he has been taught to do, from the 
base of the target to the centre, has just cov- 
ered the beggar in the boat between wind and 
water, and is lingering lovingly over the 
second pull, when the inconsiderate beggar 
(and his boat) sink unostentatiously into the 
abyss, leaving the open-mouthed marksman 
with his finger on the trigger and an unfired 
cartridge still in the chamber. At the den- 
tist's Time crawls; in snap-shooting contests 
he sprints. 

Another set of targets slide up as the first 
go down, and upon these the hits are recorded 
by a forest of black or white discs, waving 
vigorously in the air. Here and there a red- 
and- white flag flaps derisively. Mucklewame 
gets one of these. 

The marking-targets go down to half-mast 
again, and then comes another tense pause. 



SHOOTING STRAIGHT 71 

Then, as the firing-targets reappear, there is 
another volley. This time Private Mnckle- 
wame leads the field, and decapitates a dande- 
lion. The third time he has learned wisdom, 
and the beggar in the boat gets the bnllet 
where all mocking foes should get it — in 
the neck! 

Snap-shooting over, the combatants retire 
to the five-hundred-yards firing-point, tak- 
ing with them that modern hair-shirt, the 
telephone. 

Presently a fresh set of targets swing up — 
of the bulPs-eye variety this time— -and the 
markers are busy once more. 



in 



The interior of the butts is an unexpectedly 
spacious place. From the nearest firing-point 
you would not suspect their existence, except 
when the targets are up. Imagine a sort of 
miniature railway station — or rather, half a 
railway station — sunk into the ground, with 
a very long platform and a very low roof — 
eight feet high at the most. Upon the oppo- 
site side of this station, instead of the other 
platform, rises the sandy ridge previously 
mentioned — the stop-butt — crowned with its 
row of number-boards. Along the permanent 
way, in place of sleepers and metals, runs a 
long and narrow trough, in which, instead 



72 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

of railway carriages, some thirty great iron 
frames are standing side by side. These 
frames are double, and hold the targets. 
They are so arranged that if one is pnshed 
up the other comes down. The markers 
stand along the platform, like railway 
porters. 

There are two markers to each target. 
They stand with their backs to the firers, com- 
fortably conscious of several feet of earth 
and a stont brick wall between them and low 
shooters. Number one squats down, paste- 
pot in hand, and repairs the bullet-holes in 
the unemployed target with patches of black 
or white paper. Number two, brandishing a 
pole to which is attached a disc, black on one 
side and white on the other, is acquiring a 
permanent crick in the neck through gaping 
upwards at the target in search of hits. He 
has to be sharp-eyed, for the bullet-hole is a 
small one, and springs into existence without 
any other intimation than a spirt of sand on 
the bank twenty yards behind. He must be 
alert, too, and signal the shots as they are 
made; otherwise the telephone will begin to 
interest itself on his behalf. The bell will 
ring, and a sarcastic voice will intimate — • 
assuming that you can hear what it says — 
that C Company are sending a wreath and 
message of condolence as their contribution to 
the funeral of the marker at Number Seven 
target, who appears to have died at his post 
mthin the last ten minutes; coupled with a 



SHOOTING STEAIGHT 73 

polite request that Ms successor may be ap- 
pointed as rapidly as possible, as the war is 
not likely to last more than three years. To 
this the butt-officer replies that C Company 
had better come a bit closer to the target and 
try, try again. 

There are practically no restrictions as to 
the length to which one may go in insulting 
butt-markers. The Geneva Convention is 
silent upon the subject, partly because it is 
almost impossible to say anything which can 
really hurt a marker's feelings, and partly 
because the butt-officer always has the last 
word in any unpleasantness which may arise. 
That is to say, when defeated over the tele- 
phone, he can always lower his targets, and 
with his myrmidons feign abstraction or 
insensibility until an overheated subaltern 
arrives at the double from the five-hun- 
dred-yards firing-point, conveying news of 
surrender. 

Captain Wagstaffe was an admitted master 
of this game. He was a difficult subject to 
handle, for he was accustomed to return an 
eye for an eye when repartees were being 
exchanged; and when overborne by heavier 
metal — say, a peripatetic ** brass-hat" from 
Hythe — he was accustomed to haul up the 
red butt-flag (which automatically brings all 
firing to a standstill), and stroll down the 
range to refute the intruder at close quarters. 
We must add that he was a most efficient 
butt-officer. When he was on duty, markers 



74 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

were most assiduous in their- attention to 
theirs, which is not always the case. 

Thomas Atkins rather enjoys marking. For 
one thing, he is permitted to remove as much 
clothing as he pleases, and to cover himself 
with stickiness and grime to his heart's con- 
tent — always a highly prized privilege. He 
is also allowed to smoke, to exchange full- 
flavoured persiflage with his neighbours, and 
to refresh himself from time to time with 
mysterious items of provender wrapped in 
scraps of newspaper. Given an easy-going 
butt-officer and some timid subalterns, he can 
spend a very agreeable morning. Even when 
discipline is strict, marking is preferable to 
most other fatigues. 

Crack! Crack! Crack! The fusilade has 
begun. Privates Ogg and Hogg are in charge 
of Number Thirteen target. They are beguil- 
ing the tedium of their task by a friendly 
gamble with the markers on Number Fourteen 
— Privates Cosh and Tosh. The rules of the 
game are simplicity itself. After each detail 
has fired, the target with the higher score 
receives the sum of one penny from its op- 
ponents. At the present moment, after a long 
run of adversity. Privates Cosh and Tosh are 
one penny to the good. Once again fortune 
smiles upon them. The first two shots go 
right through the bull — eight points straight 
away. The third is an inner; the fourth 
another bull; the fifth just grazes the line 
separating inners from outers. Private 



SHOOTING STEAIGHT 75 

Tosh, who is scoring, promptly signals an 
inner. Meanwhile, target Number Thirteen is 
also being liberally marked — bnt by nothing 
of a remunerative nature. The gentleman at 
the firing-point is taking what is known as ^ ' a 
fine sight " — so fine, indeed, that each suc- 
cessive bullet either buries itself in the turf 
fifty yards short, or ricochets joyously from 
ofi:' the bank in front, hurling itself sideways 
through the target, accompanied by a storm of 
gravel, and tearing holes therein which even 
the biassed Ogg cannot class as clean hits. 

^^We hae gotten eighteen that time,'' an- 
nounces Mr. Tosh to his rival, swinging his 
disc and inwardly blessing his unknown bene- 
factor. (For obvious reasons the firer is 
known only to the marker by a number.) 
**Hoo's a' wi' you, Jock?" 

*^ There's a [adjective] body here," replies 
Ogg, with gloomy sarcasm, '^flingin' bricks 
through this yin!" He picks up the red-and- 
white flag for the fourth time, and unfurls it 
indignantly to the breeze. 

^^Here the officer!" says the warning voice 
of Hogg. ^*I doot he'll no allow your last 
yin, Peter." 

He is right. The subaltern in charge of 
targets Thirteen to Sixteen, after a pained 
glance at the battered countenance of Number 
Thirteen, pauses before Fourteen, and jots 
down a figure on his butt-register. 

^^Fower, fower, fower, three, three, sirr," 
announces Tosh politely. 



tQ THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

^^ Three bulls, one inner, and an ahter, sir," 
proclaims the Cockney sergeant simultaneonsly. 

^^Now, suppose / try,'' suggests the sub- 
altern gently. 

He examines the target, promptly disallows 
Tosh's last inner, and passes on. 

*^ Seventeen only!^' remarks Private Ogg 
severely. ' ' I thocht sae ! ' ' 

Private Cosh speaks — for the first time — 
removing a paste-brush and some ]patching- 
paper from his mouth — 

*^ Still, it's better nor a wash-oot! And 
onyway, you're due us tippence the noo! 



>> 



By way of contrast to the frivolous game of 
chance in the butts, the proceedings at the 
firing-point resolve themselves into a des- 
perately earnest test of skill. The fortnight's 
range-practice is drawing to a close. Each 
evening registers have been made up, and 
firing averages adjusted, with the result that 
A and D Companies are found to have en- 
tirely outdistanced B and C, and to be running 
neck and neck for the championship of the 
battalion. Up till this morning D's average 
worked out at something under fifteen (out of 
a possible twenty), and A's at something over 
fourteen points. Both are quite amazing and 
incredible averages for a recruits' course; 
but then nearly everything about ^^K(l)" is 
amazing and incredible. Up till half an hour 
ago D had, if anything, increased their lead: 
then dire calamity overtook them. 



SHOOTING STRAIGHT 77 

One Pumpherston, Sergeant-Major and 
crack shot of the Company, solemnly blows 
down the barrel of his rifle and prostrates 
himself majestically npon his more than con- 
siderable stomach, for the purpose of firing 
his Byq rounds at &ve hundred yards. His 
average score so far has been one under * ^pos- 
sible." Three officers and a couple of stray 
corporals gather behind him in eulogistic 
attitudes. 

^^How are the Company doing generally, 
Sergeant-Major r' inquires the Captain of D 
Company. 

**Very well, sirr, except for some careless- 
ness," replies the great man impressively. 
* * That man there " — he indicates a shrinking 
figure hurrying rearwards — *^has just spoilt 
his own score and another man's by putting 
two shots on the wrong target." 

There is a horrified hum at this, for to fire 
upon some one else's target is the gravest 
crime in musketry. In the first place, it counts 
a miss for yourself. In the second, it may do 
a grievous wrong to your neighbour; for the 
law ordains that, in the event of more than five 
shots being found upon any target, only the 
worst ^ve shall count. Therefore, if your un- 
solicited contribution takes the form of an 
outer, it must be counted, to the exclusion, pos- 
sibly, of a bull. The culprit broke into a double. 

Having delivered himself, Sergeant-Major 
Pumpherston graciously accepted the charger 
of cartridges which an obsequious acolyte was 



78 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

proffering, rammed it into the magazine, ad- 
justed the sights, spread out his legs to an 
obtuse angle, and fired his first shot. 

All eyes were turned upon target Number 
Seven. But there was no signal. All the 
other markers were busy flourishing discs or 
flags ; only Number Seven remained cold and 
aloof. 

The Captain of D Company laughed satiri- 
cally. 

*^ Number Seven gone to have his haircut!" 
he observed. 

*^ Third time this morning, sir/' added a 
sycophantic subaltern. 

The sergeant-major smiled indulgently. 

**I can do without signals, sir," he said. 
**I know where the shot went all right. I 
must get the next a little more to the left. 
That last one was a bit too near to three 
o 'clock to be a certainty. ' ' 

He fired again — with precisely the same 
result. 

Every one was quite apologetic to the ser- 
geant-major this time. 

*^This must be stopped," announced the 
Captain. **Mr. Simson, ring up Captain 
Wagstaffe on the telephone." 

But the sergeant-major would not hear of 
this. 

**The butt-registers are good enough for 
me, sir," he said with a paternal smile. He 
fired again. Once more the target stared back, 
blank and unresponsive. 



SHOOTING STRAIGHT 79 

This time the audience were too disgusted 
to speak. They merely shrugged their shoul- 
ders and glanced at one another with sar- 
castic smiles. The Captain, who had suffered 
a heavy reverse at the hands of Captain 
Wagstaffe earlier in the morning, began to 
rehearse the wording of his address over the 
telephone. 

The sergeant-major fired his last two shots 
with impressive aplomb — only to be abso- 
lutely ignored twice more by Number Seven. 
Then he rose to his feet and saluted with os- 
tentatious respectfulness. 

*^Four bulls and one inner, I thinJc, 
sir. I'm afraid I pulled that last one off a 
bit.'' 

The Captain is already at the telephone. 
For the moment this most feminine of instru- 
ments is found to be in an accommodating 
frame of mind. Captain Wagstaffe's voice is 
quickly heard. 

*^That you, WagstaffeT' inquires the Cap- 
tain. *^I'm so sorry to bother you, but could 
you make inquiries and ascertain when the 
marker on Number Seven is likely to come out 
of the chloroform?" 

*4Ie has been sitting up and taking nour- 
ishment for some hours," replies the voice of 
Wagstaffe. *'What message can I deliver to 
him?" 

* ' None in particular, except that he has not 
signalled a single one of Sergeant-Major Pum- 



80 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

plierston's shots!'* replies the Oaptain of D, 
with crushing simplicity. 

^*Half a moM'' replies Wagstaffe. . ,. . 
Then, presently — 

* ^ Hallo ! Are you there, Whitson T ' 

^^ Yes. We are still here/' Captain Whitson 
assures him frigidly. 

*^ Eight. Well, I have examined Number 
Seven target, and there are no shots on it of 
any kind whatever. But there are ten shots 
on Number Eight, if that's any help. Buck up 
with the next lot, will you? We are getting 
rather bored here. So long ! ' ' 

There was nothing in it now. D Company 
had finished. The last two representatives of 
A were firing, and subalterns with note-books 
were performing prodigies of arithmetic. 
Bobby Little calculated that if these two 
scored eighteen points each they would pull 
the Company's total average up to fifteen pre- 
cisely, beating D by a decimal. 

The two slender threads upon which the suc- 
cess of this enterprise hung were named Lind- 
say and Budge. Lindsay was a phlegmatic 
youth with watery eyes. Nothing disturbed 
him, which was fortunate, for the commotion 
which surrounded him was considerable. A 
stout sergeant lay beside him. on a waterproof 
sheet, whispering excited counsels of perfec- 
tion, while Bobby Little danced in the rear, 
beseeching him to fire upon the proper target. 

*^Now, Lindsay," said Captain Whitson, in 



SHOOTING STEAIGHT 81 

a trembling voice, ^^you are going to get into 
a good comfortable position, take yonr time, 
and score Rye bulls.'' 

The amazing part of it all was tbat Lindsay 
very nearly did score five bulls. He actually 
got four, and would have had a fifth had not 
the stout sergeant, in excess of solicitude, 
tenderly wiped his watery eye for him with a 
grubby handkerchief just as he took the first 
pull for his third shot. 

Altogether he scored nineteen; and the 
gallery, full of congratulations, moved on to 
inspect the performance of Private Budge, an 
extremely nervous subject: who, thanks to 
the fact that public attention had been con- 
centrated so far upon Lindsay, and that his 
ministering sergeant was a matter-of-fact in- 
dividual of few words, had put on two bulls — • 
eight points. He now required to score only 
nine points in three shots. 

Suddenly the hapless youth became aware 
of the breathless group in his rear. He 
promptly pulled his trigger, and just flicked 
the outside edge of the target — two points. 

*^I doot I'm gettin' a thing nairvous," he 
muttered apologetically to the sergeant. 

^* Havers! Shut your heid and give the 
bull a bash!" responded that admirable 
person. 

The twitching Budge, bracing himself, 
scored an inner — three points. 

*^A bull, and we do it!" murmured Bobby 
Little. Fortunately Budge did not hear. 



82 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

^^Ye^re no daen badly/' admitted the ser- 
geant grudgingly. 

Budge, a little piqued, determined to do 
better. He raised bis foresight slowly; took 
the first pull; touched ^^six o'clock'' on the 
distant bull — luckily the light was perfect — • 
and took the second pull for the last time. 

Next moment a white disc rose slowly out 
of the earth and covered the bull's-eye. 

So Bobby Little was able next morning to 
congratulate his disciples upon being ^^the 
best-shooting platoon in the best-shooting 
Company in the best-shooting Battalion in the 
Brigade. ' ' 

Not less than fifty other subalterns within 
a radius of ^ve miles were saying the same 
thing to their platoons. It is right to foster a 
spirit of emulation in young troops. 



vin 

BILLETS 

Scene, a village street, deserted. Bain falls. (It has 
been falling for abont three weeks.) A tucket 
sounds. Enter, reluctantly, soldiery. They 
grouse^ There appear severally, in doorways, chil- 
dren. They stare. And at chamber-windows, 
serving-maids. They make eyes. The soldiery 
make friendly signs. 

Such is the stage setting for our daily morn- 
ing parade. "We have been here for some 
weeks now, and the popnlace is getting nsed 
to "US. But when we first burst upon this 
peaceful township I think we may say, with- 
out undue egoism, that we created a pro- 
found sensation. In this sleepy corner of 
Hampshire His Majesty's uniform, enclosing 
a casual soldier or sailor on furlough, is a 
common enough sight, but a whole regiment 
on the march is the rarest of spectacles. As 
for this tatterdemalion northern horde, which 
swept down the street a few Sundays ago, 
with kilts swinging, bonnets cocked, and 
pipes skirling, as if they were actually re- 



84 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

turning from a triumpliant campaign instead 
of only rehearsing for one — well, as I say, 
the inhabitants had never seen anything like 
US in the world before. We achieved a succes 
fou. In fact, we were quite embarrassed by 
the attention bestowed upon us. During our 
first few parades the audience could with 
difficulty be kept off the stage. It was im- 
possible to get the children into school, or 
the maids to come in and make the beds. 
Whenever a small boy spied an officer, he 
stood in his way and saluted him. Dogs 
enlisted in large numbers, sitting down with 
an air of pleased expectancy in the super- 
numerary rank, and waiting for this new and 
delightful pastime to take a fresh turn. When 
we marched out to our training area, later in 
the day, infant schools were decanted on to 
the road under a beaming vicar, to utter 
what we took to be patriotic sounds and wave 
handkerchiefs. 

Off duty, we fraternised with the inhab- 
itants. The language was a difficulty, of 
course; but a great deal can be done by 
mutual goodwill and a few gestures. It would 
have warmed the heart of a philologist to 
note the success with which a couple of 
kilted heroes from the banks of Loch Lo- 
mond would sidle up to two giggling damo- 
sels of Hampshire at the corner of the High 
Street, by the post office, and invite them 
to come for a walk. Though it was ob- 
vious that neither party could understand 



BILLETS 85 

a single word that the other was saying, 
they never failed to arrive at an tinder- 
standing; and the quartette, having formed 
two-deep, would disappear into a gloaming 
as black as ink, to inhale the evening air 
and take sweet counsel together — at a tem- 
perature of about twenty-five degrees Fahr- 
enheit. 

You ought to see us change guard. A 
similar ceremony takes place, we believe, 
outside Buckingham Palace every morning, 
and draws a considerable crowd; but you 
simply cannot compare it with ours. How 
often does the guard at Buckingham Palace 
-Q.X bayonets? Once! and the thing is over. 
It is hardly worth while turning out to see. 
We sometimes do it as much as seven or 
eight times before we get it right, and even 
then we only stop because the sergeant-in- 
charge is threatened with clergyman's sore 
throat. The morning Private Mucklewame 
fixed his bayonet for the first time, two small 
boys stayed away from school all day in order 
to see him unfix it when he came off guard 
in the afternoon. Has any one ever done 
that at Buckingham Palace ? 

However, as I say, they have got used to 
us now. We fall in for our diurnal labours 
in comparative solitude, usually in heavy 
rain and without pomp. "We are fairly into 
the collar by this time. We have been worked 
desperately hard for more than four months ; 
we are grunting doggedly away at our job, 



86 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

not because we like it, but because we 
know it is the only thing to do. To march, 
to dig, to extend, to close; to practise ad- 
vance-guards and rear-guards, and pickets, 
in fair weather or foul, often with empty 
stomachs — that is our daily and sometimes 
our nightly programme. We are growing 
more and more efficient, and our powers of 
endurance are increasing. But, as already 
stated, we no longer go about our task like 
singing birds. 

It is a quarter to nine in the morning. 
All down the street doors are opening, and 
men appear, tugging at their equipment. 
(Yes, we are partially equipped now.) Most 
of B Company live in this street. They are 
fortunate, for only two or three are billeted 
in each little house, where they are quite 
domestic pets by this time. Their billeting 
includes * ^ subsistence, ' ^ which means that 
they are catered for by an experienced female 
instead of a male cooking-class still in the 
elementary stages of its art. 

*^A'* are not so fortunate. They are 
living in barns or hay-lofts, sleeping on the 
floor, eating on the floor, existing on the 
floor generally. Their food is cooked (by the 
earnest band of students aforementioned) in 
open-air camp-kitchens; and in tliis weather 
it is sometimes difficult to keep the fires 
alight, and not always possible to kindle 
them. 

^'D'' are a shade better off. They occupy 



BILLETS 87 

a large empty mansion at the end of the 
street. It does not contain a stick of furni- 
ture; but there are fireplaces (with Adam 
mantelpieces), and the one thing of which 
the. War Office never seems to stint us is 
coal. So ^^D" are warm, anyhow. Thirty 
men live in the drawing-room. Its late tenant 
would probably be impressed with its new 
scheme of upholstery. On the floor, straw 
palliasses and gravy. On the walls, *^ ciga- 
rette photties" — by the way, the children 
down here call them **fag picters.'' Across 
the room run clothes-lines, bearing steaming 
garments (and tell it not in Gath!) an occa- 
sional hare skin. 

*^C" are billeted in a village two miles 
away, and we see them but rarely. 

The rain has ceased for a brief space — 
it always does about parade time — and we 
accordingly fall in. The men are carrying 
picks and shovels, and make no attempt to 
look pleased at the circumstance. They real- 
ise that they are in for a morning ^s hard 
digging, and very likely for an evening's 
field operations as well. When we began 
company training a few weeks ago, entrench- 
ing was rather popular. More than half of 
us are miners or tillers of the soil, and the 
pick and shovel gave us a home-like sensa- 
tion. Here was a chance, too, of showing 
regular soldiers how a job should be prop- 
erly accomplished. So we dug with great 
enthusiasm. 



88 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

But A Company have got over that now. 
They have developed into sufficiently old 
soldiers to have acquired the correct military 
attitude towards manual labour. Trench- 
digging is a ^ ^fatigue," to be classed with 
coal-carrying, floor-scrubbing, and other civil- 
ian pursuits. The word *^ fatigue" is a 
shibboleth with the British private. Per- 
suade him that a task is part of his duty 
as a soldier, and he will perform it with 
tolerable cheerfulness ; but once allow him to 
regard that task as a ^ ^fatigue,'' and he will 
shirk it whenever possible, and regard him- 
self as a deeply injured individual when called 
upon to undertake it. Our battalion has 
now reached a sufficient state of maturity 
to be constantly on the qui vive for cun- 
ningly disguised fatigues. The other day, 
when kilts were issued for the first time, Pri- 
vate Tosh, gloomily surveying his newly un- 
veiled extremities, was heard to remark with 
a sigh — 

'^Anither fatigue! Knees tae wash noo!'' 

Presently Captain Blaikie arrives upon the 
scene; the senior subaltern reports all pres- 
ent, and we tramp oif through the mud to our 
training area. 

We are more or less in possession of our 
proper equipment now. That is to say, 
our wearing apparel and the appurtenances 
thereof are no longer held in position with 
string. The men have belts, pouches, and 



BILLETS 89 

slings in wMch to carry their greatcoats. The 
greatcoats were the last to materialise. Since 
their arrival we have lost in decorative effect 
what we have gained in martial appearance. 
For a month or two each man wore over his 
uniform during wet weather — in other words, 
all day — -a garment which the Army Ord- 
nance Department described as — '' Great- 
coat, Civilian, one.'' An Old Testament 
writer would have termed it ^ ^ a coat of many 
colours." A tailor would have said that it 
was a ^* superb vicuna raglan sack." You 
and I would have called it, quite simply, a 
reach-me-down. Anyhow, the combined effect 
was unique. As we plodded patiently along 
the road in our tarnished finery, with our eye- 
arresting checks and imitation velvet collars, 
caked with mud and wrinkled with rain, we 
looked like nothing so much on earth as a 
gang of welshers returning from an unsuc- 
cessful day at a suburban race-meeting. 

But now the kHaki-mills have ground out 
another million yards or so, and we have 
regulation greatcoats. Water-bottles, haver- 
sacks, mess-tins, and waterproof sheets have 
been slowly filtering into our possession ; and 
whenever we ^^ mobilise," which we do as a 
rule about once a fortnight — whether owing 
to invasion scares or as a test of efficiency we 
do not know — we fall in on our alarm-posts 
in something distinctly resembling the full 
* ^ Christmas-tree " rig. Sam Browne belts 
have been wisely discarded by the officers 



90 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

in favour of web-equipment ; ' and although 
Bobby Little's shoulders ache with the weight 
of his pack, he is comfortably conscious of 
two things — firstly, that even when separ- 
ated from his baggage he can still subsist 
in fair comfort on what he carries upon his 
person; and secondly, that his * ^ expectation 
of life,'' as the insurance offices say, has in- 
creased about a hundred per cent, now that 
the German sharpshooters will no longer be 
able to pick him out from his men. 

Presently we approach the scene of our 
day's work, Area Number Fourteen. We 
are now far advanced in company training. 
The barrack square is a thing of the past. 
Commands are no longer preceded by cau- 
tions and explanations. A note on a whistle, 
followed by a brusque word or gesture, is 
sufficient to set us smartly on the move. 

Suddenly we are called upon to give a test 
of our quality. A rotund figure upon horse- 
back appears at a bend in the road. Captain 
Blaikie recognises General Freeman. 

(We may note that the General's name is 
not really Freeman. We are much harried 
by generals at present. They roam about 
the country on horseback, and ask company 
commanders what they are doing; and no 
company commander has ever yet succeeded 
in framing an answer which sounds in the 
least degree credible. There are three gen- 
erals; we call them Freeman, Hardy, and 
Willis, because we suspect that they are all 



BILLETS 91 

— to judge from their fondness for keeping 
"US on the run — financially interested in the 
consumption of shoe-leather. In other re- 
spects they differ, and a wise company com- 
mander will carefully bear their idiosyn- 
crasies in mind and act accordingly, if he 
wishes to be regarded as an intelligent officer.) 

Freeman is a man of action. He likes to 
see people running about. When he appears 
upon the horizon whole battalions break into 
a double. 

Hardy is one of the old school: he likes 
things done decently and in order. He wor- 
ships bright buttons, and exact words of com- 
mand, and a perfectly wheeling line. He 
mistrusts unconventional movements and in- 
dividual tactics. *^No use trying to run,'' he 
says, ^^ before you can walk." When we see 
him, we dress the company and advance in 
review order. 

Willis gives little trouble. He seldom criti- 
cises, but when he does his criticism is always 
of a valuable nature; and he is particularly 
courteous and helpful to young officers. But, 
like lesser men, he has his fads. These are 
two — feet and cookery. He has been known 
to call a private out of the ranks on a route- 
march and request him to take his boots off 
for purposes of public display. **A soldier 
marches on two things,'' he announces — ^^his 
feet and his stomach." Then he calls up 
another man and asks him if he knows how 
to make a sea-pie. The man never does 



93 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

know, wMcli is fortunate, for otherwise Gen- 
eral Willis would not be able to tell Mm. 
After that he trots happily away, to ask some 
one else. 

However, here we are face to face with 
General Freeman. Immediate action is called 
for. Captain Blaikie flings an order over his 
shoulder to the subaltern in command of the 
leading platoon — 

*^Pass back word that this road is under 
shell fire. Move!" 

— and rides forward to meet the General. 

In ten seconds the road behind him is abso- 
lutely clear, and the men are streaming out to 
right and left in half -platoons. Waddell's 
platoon has the hardest time, for they were 
passing a quickset hedge when the order 
came. However, they hurl themselves blas- 
phemously through, and double on, scratched 
and panting. 

'^Good morning, sir!'* says Captain Blaikie, 
saluting. 

*^Good morning!" says General Freeman. 
*^What was that last movement?" 

'^The men are taking * artillery' formation, 
sir. I have just passed the word down that 
the road is under shell fire." 

*^ Quite so. But don't you think you ought 
to keep some of your company in rear, as a 
supporting line? I see you have got them 
all up on one front. ' ' 

By this time A Company is advancing in 
its original direction, but split up into eight 



BILLETS 93 

half -platoons in single file — four on each side 
of the road, at intervals of thirty yards. The 
movement has been quite smartly carried 
ont. Still, a critic must criticise or go out 
of business. However, Captain BlaiMe is an 
old hand. 

**I was assuming that my company formed 
part of a battalion, sir,'^ he explained. 
^* There are supposed to be three other com- 
panies in rear of mine. ' ' 

^*I see. Still, tell two of your sections to 
fall back and form a supporting line. ^ ' 

Captain Blaikie, remembering that generals 
have little time for study of such works as 
the new drill-book, and that when General 
Freeman says ^* section '^ he probably means 
** platoon,'' orders Numbers Two and Four to 
fall back. This manoeuvre is safely accom- 
plished. 

^^Now, let me see them close on the 
road. ' ' 

Captain Blaikie blows a whistle, and slaps 
himself on the top of the head. In three 
minutes the long-suffering platoons are back 
on the road, extracting thorns from their 
flesh and assuaging the agony of their 
abrasions by clandestine massage. 

General Freeman rides away, and the 
column moves on. Two minutes later Captain 
Wagstaife doubles up from the rear to an- 
nounce that General Hardy is only two hun- 
dred yards behind. 

*^Pass back word to the men," groans 



94 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

Captain Blaikie, '*to march at attention, put 
their caps straight, and slope their shovels 
properly. And send an orderly to that hill- 
top to look ont for General Willis. Tell him 
to unlace his boots when he gets there, and on 
no account to admit that he knows how to 
make a sea-pie!" 



IX 

MID-CHANNEL 

The Great War has been terribly hard on 
the text-books. 

When we began to dig trenches, many weeks 
ago, we always selected a site with a good 
field of fire. 

^^No good pntting yonr trenches," said the 
text-book, ** where you can't see the enemy.'' 

This seemed only common-sense ; so we dng 
onr trenches in open plains, or on the forward 
slope of a hill, where we could command the 
enemy's movements up to two thousand 
yards. 

Another maxim which we were urged to 
take to heart was — When not entrenched, 
always take advantage of natural cover of 
any kind; such as farm buildings, planta- 
tions, and railway embankments. 

We were also given practice in describing 
and recognising inconspicuous targets at long 
range, in order to be able to harass the enemy 
the moment he showed himself. 

Well, recently generals and staff officers 



96 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

liave been coming home from the front and 
giving US lectures. We regard most lectures 
as a ^ ^fatigue'' — but not these. We have 
learned more from these quiet-mannered, 
tired-looking men in a brief hour than from all 
the manuals that ever came out of Gale and 
Poldens\ We have heard the history of the 
War from the inside. We know why our 
Army retreated from Mons; we know what 
prevented the relief of Antwerp. But above 
all, we have learned to revise some of our 
most cherished theories. 

Briefly, the amended version of the law and 
the prophets comes to this : — 

Never, under any circumstances, place your 
trenches where you can see the enemy a long 
way oif . If you do, he will inevitably see you 
too, and will shell you out of them in no time. 
You need not be afraid of being rushed; a 
field of fire of two hundred yards or so will 
be sufficient to wipe him off the face of the 
earth. 

Never, under any circumstances, take cover 
in farm buildings, or plantations, or behind 
railway embankments, or in any place likely 
to be marked on a large-scale map. Their 
position and range are known to a yard. Your 
safest place is the middle of an open plain 
or ploughed field. There it will be more diffi- 
cult for the enemy's range-takers to gauge 
your exact distance. 

In musketry, concentrate all your energies 
on taking care of your rifle and practising 



MIB-CHANNEL 97 

* ^ rapid. '^ You will seldom have to fire over a 
greater distance than two hundred yards ; and 
at that range British rapid fire is the most 
dreadful medium of destruction yet devised 
in warfare. 

All this scraps a good deal of laboriously 
acquired learning, but it rings true. So .we 
site our trenches now according to the lessons 
taught us by the bitter experience of others. 

Having arrived at our allotted area, we get 
to work. The firing-trench proper is outlined 
on the turf a hundred yards or so down the 
reverse slope of a low hill. When it is finished 
it will be a mere crack in the ground, with no 
front cover to speak of ; for that would make 
it conspicuous. Number One Platoon gets to 
work on this. To Number Two is assigned 
a more subtle task — namely, the construc- 
tion of a dummy trench a comfortable dis- 
tance ahead, dug out to the depth of a few 
inches, to delude inquisitive aeroplanes, and 
rendered easily visible to the enemy's observ- 
ing stations by a parapet of newly-turned 
earth. Numbers Three and Four concentrate 
their energies upon the supporting trench and 
its approaches. 

The firing-trench is our place of business 
— our office in the city, so to speak. The 
supporting trench is our suburban residence, 
whither the weary toiler may betake himself 
periodically (or, more correctly, in relays) 
for purposes of refreshment and repose. The 
firing-trench, like most business premises, is 



98 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

severe in design and destitute of ornament. 
But the suburban trench lends itself to more 
imaginative treatment. An auctioneer's cata- 
logue would describe it as A commodious 
hijou residence^ on (or of) chalky soil; three 
feet wide and six feet deep; in the style of 
the test troglodyte period. Thirty seconds 
brisk crawl (or per stretcher) from the firing 
line. Gas laid on — 

But only once, in a field near Aldershot, 
where Private Mucklewame first laid bare, 
and then perforated, the town main with 
his pick. 

— With own water supply — ankle-deep at 
times — telephone J and the usual offices. 

We may note that the telephone commu- 
nicates with the observing-station, lying well 
forward, in line with the dummy trench. The 
most important of the usual offices is the 
hospital — a cavern excavated at the back of 
the trench, and roofed over with hurdles, 
earth, and turf. 

It is hardly necessary to add that we do 
not possess a real field-telephone. But when 
you have spent four months in firing dummy 
cartridges, performing bayonet exercises with- 
out bayonets, taking hasty cover from non- 
existent shell fire, capturing positions held 
by no enemy, and enacting the part of a * ^ casu- 
alty '^ without having received a scratch, 
telephoning without a telephone is a com- 
paratively simple operation. All you require 
is a ball of string and no sense of humour. 



MID-CHANlSrEL 99 

Second Lieutenant Waddell manages our 
telephone. 

Meanwhile we possess onr sonls in patience. 
"We know that the factories are hnmming 
night and day on our behalf; and that if, 
upon a certain day in a certain month, the 
contractors do not deliver our equipment 
down to the last water-bottle cork, ^^K'^ will 
want to know the reason why ; and we cannot 
imagine any contractor being so foolhardy as 
to provoke that terrible man into an inquiring 
attitude of mind. 

Now we are at work. We almost wish 
that Freeman, Hardy, and Willis could see us. 
Our buttons may occasionally lack lustre; 
we may cherish unorthodox notions as to the 
correct method of presenting arms; we may 
not always present an unbroken front on the 
parade-ground — but we cafh dig! Even the 
fact that we do not want to, cannot alto- 
gether eradicate a truly human desire to 
^ ^ show off. ' ' * ^ Each man to his art, ' ' we say. 
We are quite content to excel in ours, the 
oldest in the world. We know enough now 
about the conditions of the present war to be 
aware that when we go out on service only 
three things will really count — to march ; to 
dig ; and to fire, upon occasion, fifteen rounds 
a minute. Our rapid fire is already fair ; we 
can march more than a little; and if men 
who have been excavating the bowels of the 
earth for eight hours a day ever since they 
were old enough to swing a pick cannot make 



100 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

short work of a Hampshire chalk down, they 
are no true members of their Trades Union 
or the First Hundred -Thousand. 

We have stuck to the phraseology of our 
old calling. 

^^Whaur's ma drawer?" inquires Private 
Hogg, a thick-set young man with bandy legs, 
wiping his countenance with a much-tattooed 
arm. He has just completed five strenuous 
minutes with a pick. *^Come away, Geordie, 
wi' yon shovel!'' 

The shovel is preceded by an adjective. 
It is the only adjective that A Company 
knows. (No, not that one. The second on 
the list!) 

Mr. George Ogg steps down into the breach, 
and sets to work. He is a small man, strongly 
resembling the Emperor of China in a third- 
rate provincial pantomime. His weapon is 
the spade. In civil life he would have shov- 
elled the broken coal into a ^^ hutch," and 
^^ hurled" it away to the shaft. That was 
why Private Hogg referred to him as a 
*' drawer." In his military capacity he now 
removes the chaJky soil from the trench with 
great dexterity, and builds it up into a neat 
parapet behind, as a precaution against the 
back-blast of a *' Black Maria." 

There are not enough picks and shovels to 
go round — cela va sans dire. However, Pri- 
vate Mucklewame and others, who are not of 
the delving persuasion, exhibit no resentment. 
Digging is not their department. If you 



MID-CHANNEL 101 

hand them a pick and shovel and invite them 
to set to work, they lay the pick upon the 
ground beside the trench and proceed to 
shovel earth over it until they have lost it. 
At a later stage in this great war-game they 
will fight for these picks and shovels like wild 
beasts. Shrapnel is a sure solvent of pro- 
fessional etiquette. 

However, to-day the pickless squad are 
lined up a short distance away by the relent- 
less Captain Wagstaffe, and informed — 

*^You are under fire from that wood. Dig 
yourselves in ! " 

Digging oneself in is another highly un- 
popular fatigue. First of all you produce 
your portable entrenching-tool — it looks like 
a combination of a modern tack-hammer and 
a medieval back-scratcher — and fit it to its 
haft. Then you lie flat upon your face on 
the wet grass, and having scratched up some 
small lumps of turf, proceed to build these 
into a parapet. Into the hole formed by the 
excavation of the turf you then put your 
head, and in this ostrich-like posture await 
further instructions. Private Mucklewame is 
of opinion that it would be equally effective, 
and infinitely less fatiguing, simply to lie 
down prone and close the eyes. 

After Captain Wagstaffe has criticised the 
preliminary parapets — most of them are con- 
demned as not being bullet-proof — the work 
is continued. It is not easy, and never com- 
fortable, to dig lying down; but we must all 



102 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

learn to do it; so we proceed painfully to 
construct a shallow trough for our bodies and 
an annexe for our boots. Gradually we sink 
out of sight, and Captain Wagstaffe, standing 
fifty yards to our front, is able to assure us 
that he can now see nothing — except Private 
Mucklewame 's lower dorsal curve. 

By this time the rain has returned for good, 
and the short winter day is drawing to a 
gloomy close. It is after three, and we have 
been working, with one brief interval, for 
nearly five hours. The signal is given to take 
shelter. We huddle together under the leaf- 
less trees, and get wetter. 

Next comes the order to unroll greatcoats. 
Five minutes later comes another — to fall 
in. Tools are counted; there is the usual 
maddening wait while search is made for a 
missing pick. But at last the final word of 
command rings out, and the sodden, leaden- 
footed procession sets out on its four-mile 
tramp home. 

We are not in good spirits. One's frame 
of mind at all times depends largely upon 
what the immediate future has to offer; 
and, frankly, we have little to inspire us in 
that direction at present. When we joined, 
four long months ago, there loomed largely 
and splendidly before our eyes only two 
alternatives — victory in battle or death with 
honour. We might live, or w.e might die; 
but life, while it lasted, would not lack 



MID-CHANNEL 103 

great moments. In our haste we had over- 
looked the long dreary waste which lay — 
which always lies — between dream and ful- 
filment. The glorious splash of patriotic 
fervour which launched us on our way has 
subsided ; we have reached mid-channel ; and 
the haven where we would be is still afar 
off. The brave future of which we dreamed 
in our dour and uncommunicative souls seems 
as remote as ever, and the present has settled 
down into a permanency. 

To-day, for instance, we have tramped a 
certain number of miles; we have worked 
for a certain number of hours ; and we have 
got wet through for the hundredth time. 
We are now tramping home to a dinner 
which will probably not be ready, because, 
as yesterday, it has been cooked in the open 
ail* under weeping skies. While waiting 
for it, we shall clean the same old rifle. 
When night falls, we shall sleep uneasily 
upon a comfortless floor, in an atmosphere 
of stale food and damp humanity. In the 
morning we shall rise up reluctantly, and 
go forth, probably in heavy rain, to our 
labour until the evening — the same labour 
and the same evening. We admit that it 
can't be helped: the officers and the 
authorities do their best for us under dis- 
couraging circumstances: but there it is. 
Out at the front, we hear, men actually get 
as much as three days off at a time — three 
days of hot baths and abundant food and 



104 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

dry beds. To us, in onr present frame of 
mind, that seems worth any number of bul- 
lets and frost-bites. 

And — bitterest thought of all — New Year's 
Day, with all its convivial associations, is only 
a few weeks away. When it comes, the folk 
at home will celebrate it, doubtless with many 
a kindly toast to the lads **oot there," and 
the lads *^doon there." But what will that 
profit us? In this barbarous country we 
understand that they take no notice of the 
sacred festival at all. There will probably 
be a route-march, to keep us out of the pub- 
lic-houses. 

Et patiti, et patita. Are we fed up? 
Yes! 

As we swing down the village street, slightly 
cheered by a faint aroma of Irish stew — 
the cooks have got the fires alight after all 
— ^the adjutant rides up, and reins in his 
horse beside our company commander. 

Battalion orders of some kind! Prob- 
ably a full-dress parade, to trace a missing 
bayonet ! 

Presently he rides away; and Captain 
Blaikie, instead of halting and dismissing us 
in the street as usual, leads us down an alley 
into the backyard which serves as our apol- 
ogy for a parade-ground. We form close 
column of platoons, stand at ease, and wait 
resignedly. 

Then Captain Blaikie 's voice falls upon our 
ears. 



MID-CHANNEL 105 

'*A Company, I have an announcement to 
make to you. His Majesty the King — " 

So that is it. Another Royal Review! 
Well, it will be a break in the general 
monotony, 

^ ' — who has noted your hard work, good 
discipline, and steady progress with the keen- 
est satisfaction and pride — ' ' 

We are not utterly forgotten, then. 

* ' — has commanded that every man in the 
battalion is to have seven days' full leave of 
absence. ' ' 

**A-a-ah!'' We strain our tingling ears. 

*^We are to go by companies, a week at 
a time. * C ' will go first. ' ' 

^^C indeed! Who are '*C," to ? 

'*A Company's leave — our leave — will 
begin on the twenty-eighth of December, and 
extend to the third of January. ' ' 

The staccato words sink slowly in, and 
then thoughts come tumbling. 

^^Free — free on New Year's Day! 
Almichty! Free to gang hame! Free 
tae " 

Then comes an icy chill upon our hearts. 
How are we to get home? Scotland is hun- 
dreds of miles away. The fare, even on a 
^^ soldier's" ticket — 

But the Captain has not quite finished. 

** Every man will receive a week's pay in 
advance; and his fare, home and back, will 
be paid by Government. That is all." 

And quite enough too! We rock upon 



106 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

our sqnelcliiiig feet. But the Captain adds, 
without any suspicion of his parade-ground 
manner — 

^*If I may say so, I think that if ever men 
deserved a good holiday, you do. Company, 
slope arms! Dis — miss!'* 

We do not cheer: we are not built that 
way. But as we stream off to our Irish stew, 
the dourest of us says in his heart — 

*^God Save the King!'' 



DEEDS OF DAEKNESS 

A MOOiTLiT, wintry night. Four hundred men 
are clumping along the frost-bound road, 
under the pleasing illusion that because they 
are neither whistling nor talking they are 
making no noise. 

At the head of the column march Captains 
Mackintosh and Shand, the respective com- 
manders of C and D Companies. Occasion- 
ally Mackintosh, the senior, interpolates a 
remark of a casual or professional nature. 
To all these his colleague replies in a low 
and reproachful whisper. The pair represent 
two schools of military thought — a fact of 
which their respective subalterns are well 
aware, — and act accordingly. 

''In preparing troops for active service, you 
must make the conditions as real as pos- 
sible from the very outset, '^ postulates Shand. 
''Perform all your exercises just as you would 
in war. When you dig trenches, let every 
man work with his weather-eye open and his 
rifle handy, in case of sudden attack. If you 



108 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

go out on night operations don't advertise 
your position by stopping to give your men 
a recitation. No talking — no smoking — no 
unnecessary delay or exposure! Just go 
straight to your point of deployment, and 
do what you came out to do." 

To this Mackintosh replies, — 

*^ That's all right for trained troops. But 
ours aren 't half -trained yet ; all our work just 
now is purely educational. It's no use ex- 
pecting a gang of rivet-heaters from Clyde- 
bank to form an elaborate outpost line, just 
because you whispered a few sweet nothings 
in the dark to your leading section of fours! 
You simply must explain every step you take, 
at present." 

But Shand shakes his head. 

* * It 's not soldierly, ' ' he sighs. 

Hence the present one-sided — or appar- 
ently one-sided — dialogue. To the men 
marching immediately behind, it sounds like 
something between a soliloquy and a chat over 
the telephone. 

Presently Captain Mackintosh announces, — 

**We might send the scouts ahead now I 
think." 

Shand gives an inaudible assent. The 
column is halted, and the scouts called up. 
A brief command, and they disappear into the 
darkness, at the double. C and D Companies 
give them ^ve minutes start, and move on. 
The road at this point runs past a low mossy 
wall, surmounted by a venerable yew hedge, 



DEEDS OF DARKNESS 109 

clipped at intervals into tlie semblance of some 
heraldic monster. Beyond the hedge, in the 
middle distance, looms a sqnare and stately 
Georgian mansion, whose lights twinkle hos- 
pitably. 

*^I think, Shand," suggests Mackintosh 
with more formality, now that he is approach- 
ing the scene of action, * * that we might attack 
at two different points, each of us with his 
own company. What is your opinion?'' 

The officer addressed makes no immediate 
reply. His gaze is fixed upon the yew hedge, 
as if searching for gun positions or vulnerable 
points. Presently, however, he turns away, 
and coming close to Captain Mackintosh, puts 
his lips to his left ear. Mackintosh prepares 
his intellect for the reception of a pearl of 
strategy. 

But Captain Shand merely announces, in 
his regulation whisper, — 

**Dam pretty girl lives in that house, old 
man ! ' ' 



n 



Private Peter Dunshie, scout, groping pain- 
fully and profanely through a close-growing 
wood, paused to unwind a clinging tendril 
from his bare knees. As he bent down, his 
face came into sudden contact with a cold, 
wet, prickly bramble-bush, which promptly 
drew a loving but excoriating finger across 
his right cheek. 



110 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

He started back, with a muffled exclama- 
tion. Instantly there arose at his very feet 
the sound as of a motor-engine being wound 
up, and a flustered and protesting cock-pheas- 
ant hoisted itself tumultuously clear of the 
undergrowth and sailed away, shrieking, over 
the trees. - 

Finally, a hare, which had sat cowering in 
the bracken, hare-like, when it might have 
loped away, selected this, the one moment 
when it ought to have sat still, to bolt 
frantically between Peter's bandy legs and 
speed away down a long moon-dappled 
avenue. 

Private Dunshie, a prey to nervous shock, 
said what naturally rose to his lips. To be 
frank, he said it several times. He had spent 
the greater part of his life selling evening 
papers in the streets of Glasgow: and the 
profession of journalism, though it breeds 
many virtues in its votaries, is entirely useless 
as a preparation for conditions either of si- 
lence or solitude. Private Dunshie had no 
experience of either of these things, and con- 
sequently feared them both. He was acutely 
afraid. What he understood and appreciated 
was Argyle Street on a Saturday night. That 
was life ! That was light ! That was civilisa- 
tion! As for creeping about in this uncanny 
wood, filled with noxious animals and adhesive 
vegetation — well, Dunshie was heartily sorry 
that he had ever volunteered for service as 
a scout. He had only done so, of course, 



DEEDS OF DAEKNESS 111 

because the post seemed to offer certain re- 
laxations from the austerity of company- 
routine — a little more freedom of movement, 
a little less trench-digging, and a minimum 
of supervision. He would have been thankful 
for a supervisor now ! 

That evening, when the scouts doubled 
ahead. Lieutenant Simson had halted them 
upon the skirts of a dark, dreich plantation, 
and said — 

**A and B Companies represent the enemy. 
They are beyond that crest, finishing the 
trenches which were begun the 'other day. 
They intend to hold these against our attack. 
Our only chance is to take them by surprise. 
As they will probably have thrown out a line 
of outposts, you scouts will now scatter and 
endeavour to get through that line, or at 
least obtain exact knowledge of its compo- 
sition. My belief is that the enemy will con- 
tent themselves with placing a piquet on 
each of the two roads which run through 
their position; but it is possible that they 
will also post sentry-groups in the wood 
which lies between. However, that is what 
you have to find out. Don't go and get cap- 
tured. Move!" 

The scouts silently scattered, and each man 
set out to pierce his allotted section of the 
enemy's position. Private Dunshie, who had 
hoped for a road, or at least a cart-track, to 
follow, found himself, by the worst of luck, 
assigned to a portion of the thick belt of 



113 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

wood wMch stretched between the two roads. 
Nature had not intended him for a pioneer: 
he was essentially a city man. However, he 
toiled on, rending the undergrowth, putting 
up game, falling over tree-roots, and gener- 
ally acting as advertising agent for the ap- 
proaching attack. 

By way of contrast, two hundred yards to 
his right, picking his way with cat-like care 
and rare enjoyment, was Private M^Snape. 
He was of the true scout breed. In the dim 
and distant days before the call of the blood 
had swept him into * ^ K ( 1 ) , ' ' he had been a Boy 
Scout of no mean repute. He was clean in 
person and courteous in manner. He could 
be trusted to deliver a message promptly. He 
could light a fire in a high wind with two 
matches, and provide himself with a meal of 
sorts where another would have starved. He 
could distinguish an oak from an elm, and 
was sufficiently familiar with the movements 
of the heavenly bodies to be able to find his 
way across country by night. He was truth- 
ful, and amenable to discipline. In short, he 
was the embodiment of a system which in 
times of peace had served as a text for in- 
numerable well-meaning but muddle-headed 
politicians of a certain type, who made a 
specialty of keeping the nation upon the 
alert against the insidious encroachments of 
— Heaven help us! — Militarism! 

To-night all M^Snape's soul was set on 
getting through the enemy's outpost line, and 



DEEDS OP DAEKNESS 113 

discovering a way of ingress for the host 
behind him. He had no map, but he had 
the Plough and a fitful moon to guide him, 
and he held a clear notion of the disposition 
of the trenches in his retentive brain. On 
his left he could hear the distressing sounds 
of Dunshie's dolorous progress; but these 
were growing fainter. The reason was that 
Dunshie, like most persons who follow the line 
of least resistance, was walking in a circle. 
In fact, a few minutes later his circuitous 
path brought him out upon the long straight 
road which ran up over the hill towards the 
trenches. 

With a sigh of relief Dunshie stepped out 
upon the good hard macadam, and proceeded 
with the merest show of stealth up the gentle 
gradient. But he was not yet at ease. The 
over-arching trees formed a tunnel in which 
his footsteps reverberated uncomfortably. 
The moon had retired behind a cloud. Dun- 
shie, gregarious and urban, quaked anew. Ee- 
flecting longingly upon his bright and cosy 
billet, with the ** subsistence " which was 
doubtless being prepared against his return, 
he saw no occasion to reconsider his opinion 
that in the country no decent body should 
ever be called up to go out after dark unac- 
companied. At that moment Dunshie would 
have bartered his soul for the sight of an 
electric tram. 

The darkness grew more intense. Some- 
thing stirred in the wood beside him, and his 



114 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

sMn tingled. An owl hooted suddenly, and 
he jumped. Next, the gross darkness was 
illuminated by a pale and ghostly radiance, 
coming up from behind; and something 
brushed past him — something which squeaked 
and panted. His hair rose upon his scalp. 
A friendly * * Good-night ! ' ' uttered in a strong 
Hampshire accent into his left ear, accentu- 
ated rather than soothed his terrors. He sat 
down suddenly upon a bank by the roadside, 
and feebly mopped his moist brow. 

The bicycle, having passed him, wobbled on 
up the hill, shedding a fitful ray upon alter- 
nate sides of the road. Suddenly — raucous 
and stunning, but oh, how sweet! — rang out 
the voice of Dunshie 's lifelong friend, Private 
Mucklewame. 

' ' Halt ! Wha goes there ? ' ' 

The cyclist made no reply, but kept his 
devious course. Private Mucklewame, who 
liked to do things decently and in order, 
stepped heavily out of the hedge into the 
middle of the road^ and repeated his question 
in a reproving voice. There was no answer. 

This was most irregular. According to the 
text of the spirited little dialogue in which 
Mucklewame had been recently rehearsed by 
his piquet commander, the man on the bicycle 
ought to have said *^ Friend!'' This cue re- 
ceived, Mucklewame was prepared to continue. 
Without it he was gravelled. He tried once 
more. 

^^Halt! Wha goes " 



DEEDS OF DARKNESS 115 

**0n His Majesty ^s Service, my lad!" re- 
sponded a hearty voice; and the postman, 
supplementing this information with a friendly 
good-night, wobbled up the hill and disap- 
peared from sight. 

The punctilious Mucklewame was still glar- 
ing severely after this unseemly ^*gagger," 
when he became aware of footsteps upon the 
road. A pedestrian was plodding up the hill 
in the wake of the postman. He would stand 
no nonsense this time. 

^'Halt!" he commanded. **Wha goes 
there r' 

**Hey, Jock," inquired a husky voice, **is 
that you!" 

This was another most irregular answer. 
Declining to be drawn into impromptu irrele- 
vancies, Mucklewame stuck to his text. 

** Advance yin," he continued, **and give 
the coontersign, if any!" 

Private Dunshie drew nearer. 

*^ Jock," he inquired wistfully, *'hae ye got- 
ten a fag?" 

^^Aye," replied Mucklewame, friendship 
getting the better of conscience. 

**Wull ye give a body yin?" 

*'Aye. But ye canna smoke on ootpost 
duty, ' ' explained Mucklewame sternly. * ' For- 
bye, the officer has no been roond yet," he 
added. 

**Onyway," urged Dunshie eagerly, '*let 
me be your prisoner! Let me bide with the 
other boys in here ahint the dyke !" 



116 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

The hospitable Mucklewame agreed, and 
Scout Dunshie, overjoyed at the prospect of 
human companionship, promptly climbed over 
the low wall and attached himself, in the 
role of languishing captive, to Number Two 
Sentry-Group of Number Three Piquet. 



in 



Meanwhile M'Snape had reached the for- 
ward edge of the wood, and was cautiously 
reconnoitring the open ground in front of him. 
The moon had disappeared altogether now, 
but M^Snape was able to calculate, by reason 
of the misdirected exuberance of the vigilant 
Mucklewame, the exact position of the sentry- 
group on the left-hand road. About the road 
on his right he was not so certain; so he set 
out cautiously towards it, keeping to the edge 
of the wood, and pausing every few yards to 
listen. There must be a sentry-group some- 
where here, he calculated — say midway be- 
tween the roads. He must walk warily. 

Easier said than done. At this very 
moment a twig snapped beneath his foot 
with a noise like a pistol-shot, and a covey 
of partridges, lying out upon the stubble 
beside him, made an indignant evacuation of 
their bedroom. The mishap seemed fatal: 
M'Snape stood like a stone. But no alarm 
followed, and presently all was still again — 
so still, indeed, that presently, out on the 



DEEDS OF DAEKNESS 117 

right, two hundred yards away, M^Snape 
heard a man cough and then spit. Another 
sentry was located ! 

Having decided that there was no sentry- 
group between the two roads, M* Snape turned 
his back upon the wood and proceeded cau- 
tiously forward. He was not quite satisfied 
in his mind about things. He knew that Cap- 
tain Wagstaffe was in command of this section 
of the defence. He cherished a wholesome 
respect for that efficient officer, and doubted 
very much if he would really leave so much of 
his front entirely unguarded. 

Next moment the solution of the puzzle 
was in his very hand — in the form of a 
stout cord stretching from right to left. He 
was just in time to avoid tripping over it. 
It was suspended about six inches above the 
ground. 

You cannot follow a clue in two direc- 
tions at once; so after a little consideration 
M^ Snape turned and crawled along to his 
right, being careful to avoid touching the 
cord. Presently a black mass loomed before 
him, acting apparently as terminus to the 
cord. Lying flat on his stomach, in order 
to get as much as possible of this obstacle 
between his eyes and the sky, M^ Snape was 
presently able to descry, plainly silhouetted 
against the starry landscape, the profile of one 
Bain, a scout of A Company, leaning comfort- 
ably against a small bush, and presumably 
holding the end of the cord in his hand. 



118 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

M* Snape wriggled silently away, and paused 
to reflect. Then he began to creep forward 
once more. 

Having covered fifty yards, he turned to 
his right again, and presently found himself 
exactly between Bain and the trenches. As 
he expected, his hand now descended upon 
another cord, lying loosely on the ground, 
and running at right angles to the first. 
Plainly Bain was holding one end of tliis, and 
some one in the trenches — Captain Wag- 
staffe himself, as like as not — was holding 
the other. If an enemy stumbled over the 
trip-cord, Bain would warn the defence by 
twitching the alarm-cord. 

Five minutes later M* Snape was back at 
the rendezvous, describing to Simson what 
he had seen. That wise subaltern promptly 
conducted him to Captain Mackintosh, who 
was waiting with his Company for something 
to go upon. Shand had departed with his 
own following to make an independent attack 
on the right flank. Seven of the twelve scouts 
were there. Of the missing, Dunshie, as we 
know, was sunning his lonely soul in the 
society of his foes; two had lost themselves, 
and the remaining two had been captured 
by a reconnoitring patrol. Of the seven 
which strayed not, four had discovered 
the trip-cord; so it was evident that that 
ingenious contrivance extended along the 
whole line. Only M^ Snape, however, had 
penetrated farther. The general report was 



DEEDS OF DARKNESS 119 

tliat the position was closely guarded from 
end to end. 

**You say you found a cord running back 
from Bain to the trenches, M^Snape," asked 
Captain Mackintosh, *^and a sentry holding 
on to it r' 

^^Yess, sirr," replied the scout, standing 
stiffly to attention in the dark. 

*^If we could creep out of the wood and 
rush Jiimf we might be able to slip our attack 
in at that point,'' said the Captain. **You 
say there is cover to within twenty yards of 
where he is sitting?" 

^*Yes, sirr." 

*' Still, I'm afraid he'll pull that cord a bit 
too soon for us." 

*^He'll no, sirr," remarked M^Snape con- 
fidently. 

* ^ Why not 1 ' ' asked the Captain. 

M' Snape told him. 

Captain Mackintosh surveyed the small 
wizened figure before him almost affection- 
ately. 

*^M^ Snape," he said, '* to-morrow I shall 
send in your name for lance-corporal!" 



IV 



The defenders were ready. The trenches 
were finished: ^*A" and *^B" had adjusted 
their elbow-rests to their liking, and blank 



120 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

ammunition had been served out. Orders 
upon the subject of firing were strict. 

^^We won't loose off a single shot until we 
actually see you, ' ' Captain Blaikie had said to 
Captain Mackintosh. **That will teach your 
men to crawl upon their little tummies, and 
ours to keep their eyes skinned.'' 

(Captain Wagstaffe's string alarm had been 
an afterthought. At least, it was not men- 
tioned to the commander of the attack.) 

Orders were given that the men were to 
take things easily for half an hour or so, as 
the attack could not possibly be developed 
within that time. The officers established 
themselves in a splinter-proof shelter at the 
back of the supporting trench, and partook of 
provender from their haversacks. 

**I don't suppose they'll attack much before 
nine," said the voice of a stout major named 
Kemp. ^^My word, it is dark in here! And 
dull ! Curse the Kaiser ! ' ' 

*^I don't know," said Wagstaffe thought- 
fully. ^^War is hell, and all that, but it has 
a good deal to recommend it. It wipes out 
all the small nuisances of peace-time. ' ' 

^^Suchas ?" 

^^Well, Suffragettes, and Futurism, and — 
and " 

^^ Bernard Shaw," suggested another voice. 
^^Hall Caine " 

'^Yes, and the Tango, and party politics, 
and golf-maniacs. Life and Death, and 
the things that really are big, get viewed 



DEEDS OF DARKNESS 121 

in their proper perspective for once in a 
way. ' ' 

*^And look how the War has bucked up the 
nation/' said Bobby Little, all on fire at once. 
'^Look at the way girls have given np fuss- 
ing over clothes and things, and taken to 
nursing. ' ' 

**My poor young friend," said the voice of 
the middle-aged Kemp, **tell me honestly, 
would you like to be attended to by some of 
the young women who have recently taken 
up the nursing profession T' 

^^Eather!" said Bobby, with thoughtless 
fervour. 

*^I didn't say owe/^ Kemp pointed out, 
amid laughter, *^but some. Of course we all 
know of one. Even I do. It's the rule, not 
the exception, that we 9,re dealing with just 
now. ' ' 

Bobby, realising that he had been unfairly 
surprised in a secret, felt glad that the dark- 
ness covered his blushes. 

* ^ Well, take my tip, ' ' continued Kemp, * * and 
avoid amateur ministering angels, my son. 
I studied the species in South Africa. For 
twenty-four hours they nurse you to death, 
and after that they leave you to perish of 
starvation. Women in war-time are best left 
at home." 

A youthful paladin in the gloom timidly 
mentioned the name of Florence Night- 
ingale. 

**One Nightingale doesn't make a base 



122 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

hospital," replied Kemp. **I take off my hat 
— we all do — to women who are willing to 
undergo the drudgery and discomfort which 
hospital training involves. But I'm not 
talking about Florence Nightingales. The 
young person whom I am referring to is 
just intelligent enough to understand that 
the only possible thing to do this season is 
to nurse. She qualifies herself for her new 
profession by dressing up like one of the 
chorus of ^The Quaker Girl/ and getting 
her portrait, thus attired, into the ^Tatler.' 
Having achieved this, she has graduated. 
She then proceeds to invade any hospital that 
is available, where she flirts with everything 
in pyjamas, and freezes you with a look if 
you ask her to empty a basin or change 
your sheets. I know her! IVe had some, 
and I know her! She is one of the minor 
horrors of war. In peace-time she goes out 
on Alexandra Day, and stands on the steps of 
men's clubs and pesters the members to let 
her put a rose in their button-holes. What 
such a girl wants is a good old-fashioned 
mother who knows how to put a slipper to 
its right use ! ' ' 

^'I don't think," observed Wagstaffe, since 
Kemp had apparently concluded his philippic, 
^Hhat young girls are the only people who 
lose their heads. Consider all the poisonous 
young blighters that one sees about town just 
now. Their uplift is enormous, and their 
manners in public horrid; and they hardly 



DEEDS OF DARKNESS 123 

know enough about their new job to stand 
at attention when they hear ^God Save the 
King.' In fact, they deserve to be nursed 
by your little friends, Bobby!" 

^*They are all that you say," conceded 
Kemp. **But after all, they do have a fairly 
stiff time of it on duty, and they are going 
to have a much stiffer time later on. And 
they are not going to back out when the ro- 
mance of the new uniform wears off, remem- 
ber. Now these girls will play the angel-of- 
mercy game for a week or two, and then jack 
up and confine their efforts to getting hold 
of a wounded officer and taking him to the 
theatre. It is dernier cri to take a wounded 
officer about with you at present. Wounded 
officers have quite superseded Pekinese, I am 
told." 

*^ Women certainly are the most extraordi- 
nary creatures," mused Ayling, a platoon 
commander of **B." **In private life I am a 
beak at a public school ' ' 

**What school?" inquired several voices. 
Ayling gave the name, found that there were 
two of the school's old boys present, and 
continued — 

**Just as I was leaving to join this bat- 
talion, the Head received a letter from a boy's 
mother intimating that she was obliged to 
withdraw her son, as he had received a com- 
mission in the army for the duration of the 
war. She wanted to know if the Head 
would keep her son's place open for him 



124 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

until he came back! Wliat do you tMnk of 
thatr' 

^ ^ Sense of proportion wasn 't invented when 
women were made, ' ' commented Kemp. * ^ But 
we are wandering from the subject, which is: 
what advantages are we, personally, deriving 
from the war 1 Wagger, what are you getting 
outofitr' 

^*Half-a-crown a day extra pay as Assist- 
ant Adjutant,'' replied Wagstaffe laconically. 
**Ainslie, wake up and tell us what the war 
has done for you, since you abandoned the 
Stock Exchange and took to foot-slogging. ' ' 

* ^ Certainly, ' ' replied Ainslie. * ' A year ago 
I spent my days trying to digest my food, 
and my nights trying to sleep. I was not 
at all successful in either enterprise. I can 
now sit down to a supper of roast pork and 
bottled stout, go to bed directly afterwards, 
sleep all night, and wake up in the morning 
without thinking unkind things of anybody 
— not even my relations-in-law ! Bless the 
Kaiser, say I! Borrodaile, what about you? 
Any complaints ? ' ' 

^^ Thank you," replied Borrodaile 's dry 
voice; *^ there are no complaints. In civil 
life I am what is known as a * prospective 
candidate.' For several years I have been 
exercising this, the only, method of advertis- 
ing permitted to a barrister, by nursing a 
constituency. That is, I go down to the coun- 
try once a week, and there reduce myself 
to speechlessness soliciting the votes of the 



DEEDS OF DAEKNESS 125 

people who put my opponent in twenty years 
ago, and will keep him in by a two thousand 
majority as long as he cares to stand. I have 
been at it five years, but so far the old gentle- 
man has never so much as betrayed any knowl- 
edge of my existence. ' ' 

**That must be rather galling," said Wag- 
statfe. 

'^Ah! but listen! Of course party politics 
have now been merged in the common cause 
— see local organs, passim — and both sides 
are working shoulder to shoulder for the 
maintenance of our national existence." 

^^ Applause f murmured Kemp. 

'^That is to say," continued Borrodaile 
with calm relish, *^my opponent, whose strong 
suit for the last twenty years has been to 
cry down the horrors of militarism, and the 
madness of national service, and the un- 
wieldy size of the British Empire, is now 
compelled to spend his evenings taking the 
chair at mass meetings for the encourage- 
ment of recruiting. I believe the way in 
which he eats up his own previous utter- 
ances on the subject is quite superb. On these 
occasions I always send him a telegram, 
containing a kindly pat on the back for him 
and a sort of semi-official message for the 
audience. He has to read this out on the 
platform ! ' ' 

*'What sort of message!" asked a delighted 
voice. 

*^0h — Send along some more of our hoys. 



126 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

Lord Kitchener says there are hone to touch 
them, Borrodaile, Bruce and Wallace High- 
landers, Or — All success to the meeting, and 
best thanks to you personally for carrying 
on in my absence, Borrodaile, Bruce and 
Wallace Highlanders, I have a lot of quiet 
fun," said Borrodaile meditatively, ^* compos- 
ing those telegrams. I rather fancy" — he 
examined the luminous watch on his wrist — 
**yes, it's ^Ye minutes past eight: I rather 
fancy the old thing is reading one now ! ' ' 

The prospective candidate leaned back 
against the damp wall of the dug-out with 
a happy sigh. ^*What have you got out of 
the war, Ayling?" he inquired. 

* * Change, ' * said Ay ling. 

**For better or worse?" 

^*If you had spent seven years in a big 
public school, ' ' said Ayling, * ^ teaching exactly 
the same thing, at exactly the same hour, to 
exactly the same kind of boy, for weeks on 
end, what sort of change would you welcome 
most?" 

*^ Death," said several voices. 

^* Nothing of the kind!" said Ayling 
warmly. **It's a great life, if you are cut 
out for it. But there is no doubt that the 
regularity of the hours, and the absolute 
certainty of the future, make a man a bit 
groovy. Now in this life we are living we 
have to do lots of dull or unpleasant things, 
but they are never quite the same things. 
They are progressive, and not circular, if 



DEEDS OF DARKNESS 127 

you know what I mean; and tlie immediate 
future is absolutely unkaown, which is an un- 
told blessing. What about you, SketchleyT' 

A fat voice replied — 

**War is good for adipose Special Eeser- 
vists. I have decreased four inches round the 
waist since October. Next!" 

So the talk ran on. Young Lochgair, heir 
to untold acres in the far north and master of 
unlimited pocket-money, admitted frankly 
that the sum of eight-and-sixpence per day, 
which he was now earning by the sweat of 
his brow and the expenditure of shoe-leather, 
was sweeter to him than honey in the honey- 
comb. Hattrick, who had recently put up a 
plate in Harley Street, said it was good to be 
earning a living wage at last. Mr. Waddell, 
pressed to say a few words of encouragement 
of the present campaign, delivered himself of 
a guarded but illuminating eulogy of war as 
a cure for indecision of mind; from which, 
coupled with a coy reference to *^some one" 
in distant St. Andrews, the company were 
enabled to gather that Mr. Waddell had car- 
ried a position with his new sword which had 
proved impregnable to civilian assault. 

Only Bobby Little was silent. In all this 
genial symposium there had been no word of 
the spur which was inciting him — and doubt- 
less the others — along the present weary and 
monotonous path; and on the whole he was 
glad that it should be so. None of us care 
to talk, even privately, about the Dream of 



128 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

Honour and the Hope of Glory. The only 
difference between Bobby and the others was 
that while they could cover np their aspira- 
tions with a jest, Bobby mnst say all that was 
in his heart, or keep silent. So he held his 
peace. 

A tall figure loomed against the starlit sky, 
and Captain Wagstaffe, who had been out in 
the trench, spoke quickly to Major Kemp : — 

^^I thing we had better get to our places, 
sir. Some criminal has cut my alarm-cord ! ' ' 



Five minutes previously, Private Bain, 
lulled to a sense of false security by the still- 
ness of the night, had opened his eyes, which 
had been closed for purposes of philosophic 
reflection, to find himself surrounded by four 
ghostly figures in greatcoats. With creditable 
presence of mind he jerked his alarm-cord. 
But, alas ! the cord came with his hand. 

He was now a prisoner, and his place in the 
scout-line was being used as a point of deploy- 
ment for the attacking force. 

^^We're extended right along the line 
now,'' said Captain Mackintosh to Simson. 
^^I can't wait any longer for Shand: he has 
probably lost himself. The sentries are all 
behind us. Pass the word along to crawl 
forward. Every man to keep as low as he 



DEEDS OF DAEKNESS 129 

can, and dress by the right. No one to charge 
unless he hears my whistle, or is fired on," 

The whispered word — Captain Mackintosh 
knows when to whisper quite as well as Cap- 
tain Shand — runs down the line, and pres- 
ently we begin to creep forward, stooping low. 
Sometimes we halt ; sometimes we swing back 
a little ; but on the whole we progress. Once 
there is a sudden exclamation. A highly- 
strung youth, crouching in a field drain, has 
laid his hand upon what looks and feels like 
a clammy human face, lying recumbent and 
staring heavenward. Too late, he recognises 
a derelict scarecrow with a turnip head. 
Again, there is a pause while the extreme 
right of the line negotiates an unexpected 
barbed-wire fence. Still, we move on, with 
enormous caution. We are not certain where 
the trenches are, but they must be near. At 
any moment a crackling volley may leap out 
upon us. Pulses begin to beat. 

In the trench itself eyes are strained and 
ears cocked. It is an eerie sensation to know 
that men are near you, and creeping nearer, 
yet remain inaudible and invisible. It is a 
very dark night. The moon appears to have 
gone to bed for good, and the stars are mostly 
covered. Men unconsciously endeavour to 
fan the darkness away with their hands, like 
mist. The broken ground in front, with the 
black woods beyond, might be concealing an 
army corps for all the watchers in the trenches 
can tell. Far away to the south a bright 



130 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

finger of light occasionally stabs the murky 
heavens. It is the searchlight of a British 
cruiser, keeping ceaseless vigil in the English 
Channel, fifteen miles away. If she were not 
there we should not be making-believe here 
with such comfortable deliberation. It would 
be the real thing. 

Bobby Little, who by this time can almost 
discern spiked German helmets in the gloom, 
stands tingling. On either side of him are 
ranged the men of his platoon — some eager, 
some sleepy, but all silent. For the first time 
he notices that in the distant woods ahead of 
him there is a small break — a mere gap — 
through which one or two stars are twinkling. 
If only he could contrive to get a line of sight 
direct to that patch of sky 

He moves a few yards along the trench, 
and brings his eye to the ground-level. No 
good: a bush intervenes, fifteen yards away. 
He moves further and tries again. 

Suddenly, for a brief moment, against the 
dimly illuminated scrap of horizon, he descries 
a human form, clad in a kilt, advancing 
stealthily. . . . 

'^Number one Platoon — at the enemy in 
front — rapid fire!'' 

He is just in time. There comes an over- 
wrought roar of musketry all down the line of 
trenches. Simultaneously, a solid wall of men 
rises out of the earth not fifty yards away, 
and makes for the trenches with a long-drawn 
battle yell. 



DEEDS OF DAEKNESS 131 

Make-believe has its thrills as well as the 
genuine article. 

And so home to bed. M^Snape duly became 
a lance-corporal, while Dunshie resigned his 
post as a scout and returned to duty with the 
company. 



XI 

OLYMPUS 

Under this designation it is convenient to 
lump the whole heavenly host which at pres- 
ent orders our goings and shapes our ends. 
It includes — 

(1) The War Office; 

(2) The Treasury; 

(3) The Army Ordnance Office; 

(4) Our Divisional Office; 

— and other more local and immediate homes 
of mystery. 

The Olympus which controls the destinies 
of *^K(1) '^ differs in many respects from the 
Olympus of antiquity, but its celestial in- 
habitants appear to have at least two points 
in common with the original body — namely, 
a childish delight in upsetting one another's 
arrangements, and an untimely sense of hu- 
mour when dealing with mortals. 

So far as our researches have gone, we have 
been able to classify Olympus, roughly, into 
three departments — 



OLYMPUS 133 

(1) Eound Game Department (including 

Dockets, Indents, and all official 
correspondence). 

(2) Fairy Godmother Department. 

(3) Practical Joke Department. 

The outstanding feature of the Round Game 
Department is its craving for irrelevant in- 
formation and its passion for detail. **Open 
your hearts to us,'' say the officials of the 
Department; ** unburden your souls; keep 
nothing from us — and you will find us most 
accommodating. But stand on your dignity; 
decline to particularise; hold back one irrel- 
evant detail — and it will go hard with you! 
Listen, and we will explain the rules of the 
game. Think of something you want im- 
mediately — say the command of a brigade, 
or a couple of washers for the lock of a ma- 
chine-gun — and apply to us. The applica- 
tion must be made in writing, upon the Army 
Form provided for the purpose, and in tripli- 
cate. And — you must put in all the details 
you can possibly think of.'' 

For instance, in the case of the machine- 
gun washers — by the way, in applying for 
them, you must call them Gim, Machine, Light 
VicherSf Washers for lock of, two. That 
is the way we always talk at the Ordnance 
Office. An Ordnance officer refers to his 
wife's mother as Law, Mother-in-, one — you 
should state when the old washers were lost, 
and by whom; also why they were lost, and 
where they are now. Then write a short 



134 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

history of the machine-gnn from which they 
were lost, giving date and place of birth, 
together with a statement of the exact num- 
ber of rounds which it has fired — a machine- 
gun fires about ^ve hundred rounds a min- 
ute — adding the name and military record 
of the pack-animal which usually carries it. 
When you have filled up this document you 
forward it to the proper quarter and await 
results. 

The game then proceeds on simple and 
automatic lines. If your application is re- 
ferred back to you not more than five times, 
and if you get your washers within three 
months of the date of application, you are 
the winner. If you get something else instead 
— say an aeroplane, or a hundred wash-hand 
basins — it is a draw. But the chances are 
that you lose. 

Consider. By the rules of the game, if 
Olympus can think of a single detail which 
has not been thought of by you — for instance, 
if you omit to mention that the lost washers 
were circular in shape and had holes through 
the middle — you are ipso facto disqualified, 
under Eule One. Eule Two, also, is liable 
to trip you up. Possibly you may have 
written the pack-mule's name in small block 
capitals, instead of ordinary italics underlined 
in red ink, or put the date in Roman figures 
instead of Arabic numerals. If you do this, 
your application is referred back to you, and 
you lose a life. And even if you survive 



OLYMPUS 135 

Eules One and Two, Enle Three will probably 
get you in the end. Under its provision your 
application mnst be framed in such language 
and addressed in such a manner that it passes 
through every department and sub-depart- 
ment of Olympus before it reaches the right 
one. The rule has its origin in the principle 
which governs the passing of wine at well- 
regulated British dinner-tables. That is, if 
you wish to offer a glass of port to your 
neighbour on your right, you hand the 
decanter to the neighbour on your left, so 
that the original object of your hospitality 
receives it, probably empty, only after a 
complete circuit of the table. In the present 
instance, the gentleman upon your right is 
the President of the Washer Department, 
situated somewhere in the Army Ordnance 
Office, the remaining guests representing the 
other centres of Olympian activity. For 
every department your application misses, 
you lose a life, three lost lives amoimting 
to disqualification. 

When the washers are issued, however, 
the port- wine rule is abandoned; and the 
washers are despatched to you, in defiance 
of all the laws of superstition and tradition, 
^^widder shins," or counter-clockwise. No 
wonder articles thus jeopardised often fail 
to reach their destination ! 

Your last fence comes when you receive a 
document from Olympus announcing that your 
washers are now prepared for you, and that 



136 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

if you will sign and return the enclosed re- 
ceipt they will be sent off upon their last 
journey. You are now in the worst dilemma 
of all. Olympus will not disgorge your 
washers until it has your receipt. On the 
other hand, if you send the receipt, Olympus 
can always win the game by losing the wash- 
ers, and saying that you have got them. In 
the face of your own receipt you cannot very 
well deny this. So you lose your washers, 
and the game, and are also made liable for 
the misappropriation of two washers, for 
which Olympus holds your receipt. 

Truly, the gods play with loaded dice. 

On the whole, the simplest (and almost uni- 
versal) plan is to convey a couple of washers 
from some one else 's gun. 

The game just described is played chiefly 
by officers; but this is a democratic age, and 
the rank and file are now occasionally per- 
mitted to take part. 

For example, boots. Private M^Splae is 
the possessor, we will say, of a pair of flat 
feet, or arched insteps, or other military in- 
commodities, and his regulation boots do not 
fit him. More than that, they hurt him ex- 
ceedingly, and as he is compelled to wear 
them through daily marches of several miles, 
they gradually wear a hole in his heel, or 
a groove in his instep, or a gathering on his 
great toe. So he makes the first move in the 
game, and reports sick — **sair feet." 



OLYMPUS 137 

The Medical Officer, a terribly efficient in- 
dividual, keenly — sometimes too keenly — 
alert for signs of malingering, takes a cursory 
glance at M^Splae's feet, and directs the 
patient's attention to the healing properties 
of soap and water. M^Splae departs, grum- 
bling, and reappears on sick parade a few 
days later, palpably worse. This time, the 
M.O. being a little less pressed with work, 
M^Splae is given a dressing for his feet, 
coupled with a recommendation to procure 
a new pair of boots without delay. If 
M^Splae is a novice in regimental diplomacy, 
he will thereupon address himself to his pla- 
toon sergeant, who will consign him, elo- 
quently, to a destination where only boots 
with asbestos soles will be of any use. If 
he is an old hand, he will simply cut his next 
parade, and will thus, rather ingeniously, 
obtain access to his company commander, 
being brought up before him at orderly-room 
next morning as a defaulter. To his cap- 
tain he explains, with simple dignity, that 
he absented himself from parade because 
he found himself unable to *^rise up" from 
his bed. He then endeavours, by hurriedly 
unlacing his boots, to produce his feet as 
evidence; but is frustrated, and awarded 
three extra fatigues for not formally report- 
ing himself sick to the orderly sergeant. 
The real point of issue, namely, the unsuit- 
ability of M'Splae's boots, again escapes 
attention. 



138 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

There tlie matter rests until, a few days 
later, M'Splae falls out on a long regimental 
ronte-march, and hobbles home, chaperoned 
by a not ungrateful lance-corporal, in a state 
of semi-collapse. This time the M.O, reports 
to the captain that Private M'Splae will be 
unfit for further duty until he is provided 
with a proper pair of boots. Are there no 
boots in the quartermaster's store? 

The captain explains that there are plenty 
of boots, but that under the rules of the 
present round game no one has any power 
to issue them. (This rule was put in to 
prevent the game from becoming too easy, 
like the spot-barred rule in billiards.) It 
is a fact well known to Olympus that no 
regimental officer can be trusted with boots. 
Not even the colonel can gain access to the 
regimental boot store. For all Olympus can 
tell, he might draw a pair of boots and wear 
them himself, or dress his children up in 
them, or bribe the brigadier with them, in- 
stead of issuing them to Private M^Splae. 
No, Olympus thinks it wiser not to put temp- 
tation in the way of underpaid officers. So 
the boots remain locked up, and the taxpayer 
is protected. 

But to be just, there is always a solution 
to an Olympian enigma, if you have the 
patience to go on looking for it. In this 
case the proper proceeding is for all con- 
cerned, including the prostrate M^Splae, to 
wait patiently for a Board to sit. No date 



OLYMPUS 139 

is assigned for this event, bnt it is bound to 
occur sooner or later, like a railway acci- 
dent or an eclipse of tlie moon. So one day, 
out of a cloudless sky, a Board materialises, 
and sits on M^Splae^s boots. If M^Splae's 
company commander happens to be presi- 
dent of the Board the boots are condemned, 
and the portals of the quarter-master's store 
swing open for a brief moment to emit a 
new pair. 

When M^Splae comes out of hospital, the 
boots, provided no one has appropriated them 
during the term of his indisposition, are his. 
He puts them on, to find that they pinch him 
in the same place as the old pair. 

Then there is the Fairy Godmother Depart- 
ment, which supplies us with unexpected 
treats. It is the smallest department on 
Olympus, and, like most philanthropic in- 
stitutions, is rather unaccountable in the man- 
ner in which it distributes its favours. It 
is somewhat hampered in its efforts, too, 
by the Practical Joke Department, which 
appears to exercise a sort of general right 
of interference all over Olympus. For in- 
stance, the Fairy Godmother Department de- 
crees that officers from Indian regiments, 
who were home on leave when the War broke 
out and were commandeered for service with 
the Expeditionary Force, shall continue to 
draw pay on the Indian scale, which is con- 
siderably higher thap. that which prevails 



140 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

at home. So far, so good. But the Practical 
Joke Department hears of this, and scents 
an opportunity, in the form of * ^ deductions. ' ' 
It promptly bleeds the beneficiaire of certain 
sums per day, for quarters, horse allowance, 
forage, and the like. It is credibly reported 
that one of these warriors, on emerging from 
a week's purgatory in a Belgian trench, 
found that his accommodation therein had 
been charged against him, under the head of 
*^ lodgings,'' at the rate of two shillings and 
threepence a night ! 

But sometimes the Fairy Godmother De- 
partment gets a free hand. Like a benevolent 
maiden aunt, she unexpectedly drops a twenty- 
pound note into your account at Cox's Bank, 
murmuring something vague about *^ addi- 
tional outfit allowance"; and as Mr. Cox 
makes a point of backing her up in her little 
secret, you receive a delightful surprise next 
time you open your pass-book. 

She has the family instinct for detail, too, 
this Fairy Godmother. Perhaps the electric 
light in your bedroom fails, and for three 
days you have to sit in the dark or purchase 
candles. An invisible but observant little 
cherub notes this fact; and long afterwards 
a postal order for tenpence flutters down 
upon you from Olympus, marked ^^ light al- 
lowance." Once Bobby Little received a 
mysterious postal order for one-and-five- 
pence. It was in the early days of his 
novitiate, before he had ceased to question 



OLYMPUS 141 

the workings of Providence. So lie made 
inquiries, and after prolonged investigation 
discovered the source of the windfall. On 
field service an officer is entitled to a certain 
sum per day as * Afield allowance.^' In bar- 
racks, however, possessing a bedroom and 
other indoor comforts, he receives no such 
gratuity. Now Bobby had once been com- 
pelled to share his room for a few nights with 
a newly- joined and homeless subaltern. He 
was thus temporarily rendered the owner of 
only half a bedroom. Or, to put it another 
way, only half of him was able to sleep in 
barracks. Obviously, then, the other half 
was on field service, and Bobby was there- 
fore entitled to half field allowance. Hence 
the one-and-fivepence. I tell you, little es- 
capes them on Olympus. So does much, but 
that is another story. 

Last of all comes the Practical Joke De- 
partment. It covers practically all of one 
side of Olympus — the shady side. 

The jokes usually take the form of an 
order, followed by a counter-order. For 
example — 

In his magisterial days Ayling, of whom we 
have previously heard, was detailed by his 
Headmaster to undertake the organisation of 
a school corps to serve as a unit of the Officers ^ 
Training Corps — then one of the spoilt bant- 
lings of the War Office. Being a vigorous 
and efficient young man, Ayling devoted four 



142 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

weeks of his smnmer holiday to a course of 
training with a battalion of regulars at Alder- 
shot. During that period, as the prospective 
commander of a company, he was granted the 
pay and provisional rank of captain, which all 
will admit was handsome enough treatment. 
Three months later, when after superhuman 
struggles he had pounded his youthful legion- 
aries into something like efficiency, his ap- 
pointment to a commission was duly confirmed, 
and he found himself gazetted — Second Lieu- 
tenant. In addition to this, he was required 
to refund to the Practical Joke Department 
the difference between second lieutenant 's pay 
and the captain's pay which he had received 
during his month's training at Aldershot! 

But in these strenuous days the Department 
has no time for baiting individuals. It has 
two or three millions of men to sharpen its 
wit upon. Its favourite pastime at present is 
a sort of giant's game of chess, the fair face of 
England serving as board, and the various 
units of the K. armies as pieces. The object 
of the players is to get each piece through as 
many squares as possible in a given time, it 
being clearly understood that no move shall 
count unless another piece is evicted in the 
process. For instance, we, the a;th Brigade of 
the ytld Division, are suddenly uprooted from 
billets at A and planted down in barracks at 
B, displacing the ^th Brigade of the qth Divi- 
sion in the operation. We have barely cleaned 
up after the pth — an Augean task — and 



OLYMPUS 143 

officers have just concluded messing, fur- 
nishing, and laundry arrangements with the 
local banditti, when the Practical Joke De- 
partment, with its tongue in its cheek, bids us 
prepare to go under canvas at C. Married 
officers hurriedly despatch advance parties, 
composed of their wives, to secure houses or 
lodgings in the bleak and inhospitable environs 
of their new station; while a rapidly ageing 
Mess President concludes yet another demor- 
alising bargain with a ruthless and omnipo- 
tent caterer. Then — this is the cream of the 
joke — the day before we expect to move, the 
Practical Joke Department puts out a play- 
ful hand and sweeps us all into some half- 
completed huts at D, somewhere at the other 
end of the Ordnance map, and leaves us there, 
with a happy chuckle, to sink or swim in an 
Atlantic of mud. 

So far as one is able to follow the scoring of 
the game, some of the squares in the chess- 
board are of higher value than others. For 
instance, if you are dumped down into com- 
paratively modern barracks at Aldershot, 
which, although they contain no furniture, 
are at least weatherproof and within reach of 
shops, the Practical Joke Department scores 
one point. Barracks condemned as unsafe 
and insanitary before the war, but now 
reckoned highly eligible, count three points; 
rat-ridden billets count five. But if you can 
manoeuvre your helpless pawns into Mud- 
splosh Camp, you receive ten whole points, 



144 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

with a bonus of two points thrown in if you 
can effect the move without previous notice 
of any kind. 

We are in Mudsplosh Camp to-day. In 
transferring us here, the Department secured 
full points, including bonus. 

Let it not be supposed, however, that we 
are decrying our present quarters. Mud- 
splosh Camp is — or is going to be ^ — a nobly 
planned and admirably equipped military 
centre. At present it consists of some three 
hundred wooden huts, in all stages of con- 
struction, covering about twenty acres of 
high moorland. The huts are heated with 
stoves, and will be delightfully warm when 
we get some coal. They are lit by — or 
rather wired for — electric light. Meanwhile 
a candle-end does well enough for a room only 
a hundred feet long. There are numerous 
other adjuncts to our comfort — wash-houses, 
for instance. These will be invaluable, when 
the water is laid on. For the present, there 
is a capital standpipe not a hundred yards 
away ; and all you have to do, if you want an 
invigorating scrub, is to wait your turn for 
one of the two tin basins supplied to each 
fifty men, and then splash to your heart's 
content. There is a spacious dining-hall; 
and as soon as the roof is on, our successors, 
or their successors, will make merry therein. 
Meanwhile, there are worse places to eat one's 
dinner than the floor — the mud outside, for 
instance. 



OLYMPUS 145 

The stables are lofty and well ventilated. 
At least, we are sure they will be. Pending 
their completion the horses and mules are 
very comfortable, picketed on the edge of the 
moor. . . . After all, there are only sixty of 
them; and most of them have rugs; and it 
can't possibly go on snowing for ever. 

The only other architectural feature of the 
camp is the steriliser, which has been work- 
ing night and day ever since we arrived. No, 
it does not sterilise water or milk, or any- 
thing of that kind — only blankets. Those 
men standing in a queue at its door are carry- 
ing their bedding. (Yes, quite so. When 
blankets are passed from regiment to regi- 
ment for months on end, in a camp where 
opportunities for ablution are not lavish, 
these little things will happen.) 

You put the blankets in at one end of the 
steriliser, turn the necessary handles, and 
wait. In due course the blankets emerge, 
steamed, dried, and thoroughly purged. At 
least, that is the idea. But listen to Privates 
Ogg and Hogg, in one of their celebrated 
cross-talk duologues. 

Ogg (examining his hlanJcet), * ^They're a' 
there yet. See ! ' ' 

Hogg (an optimist). ''Aye; but they must 
have gotten an awfu' fricht!" 

But then people like Ogg are never satis- 
fied with anything. 

However, the feature of this camp is the 
mud. That is why it counts ten points. There 



146 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

was no mud, of course, before the camp was 
constructed — only dry turf, and wild yel- 
low gorse, and fragrant heather. But the 
Practical Joke Department were not to be 
discouraged by the superficial beauties of 
nature. They knew that if you crowd a 
large number of human dwellings close to- 
gether, and refrain from constructing any 
roads or drains as a preliminary, and fill 
these buildings with troops in the rainy sea- 
son, you will soon have as much mud as ever 
you require. And they were quite right. 
The depth varies from a few inches to about 
a foot. On the outskirts of the camp, how- 
ever, especially by the horse lines or going 
through a gate, you may find yourself up to 
your knees. But, after all, what is mud? 
Most of the officers have gum-boots, and the 
men will probably get used to it. Life in 
K(l) is largely composed of getting used to 
things. 

In the more exclusive and fashionable dis- 
tricts — round about the Orderly-room, and 
the Canteen, and the Guard-room — elevated 
*' duck- walks'' are laid down, along which we 
delicately pick our way. It would warm the 
heart of a democrat to observe the ready — 
nay, hasty — courtesy with which an officer, 
on meeting a private carrying two over- 
flowing buckets of kitchen refuse, steps down 
into the mud to let his humble brother-in- 
arms pass. Where there are no duck-walks, 
we employ planks laid across the mud. In 



OLYMPUS 147 

comparatively dry weather these planks lie 
some two or three inches below the mud, and 
much innocent amusement may be derived 
from trying to locate them. In wet weather, 
however, the planks float to the surface, and 
then of course everything is plain sailing. 
When it snows, we feel for the planks with 
our feet. If we find them we perform an 
involuntary and unpremeditated ski-ing act: 
if we fail, we wade to our quarters through 
a sort of neapolitan ice — snow on the top, 
mud underneath. 

Our parade-ground is a mud-flat in front of 
the huts. Here we take our stand each 
morning, sinking steadily deeper until the 
order is given to move off. Then the bat- 
talion extricates itself with one tremendous 
squelch, and we proceed to the labours of 
the day. 

Seriously, though — supposing the com- 
manding officer were to be delayed one morn- 
ing at orderly-room, and were to ride on to 
the parade-ground twenty minutes late, what 
would he find? Nothing! Nothing but a 
great parterre of glengarries, perched upon 
the mud in long parallel rows, each glengarry 
flanked on the left-hand side by the muzzle 
of a rifle at the slope. (That detached patch 
over there on the left front, surrounded by 
air-bubbles, is the band. That cavity like 
the crater of an extinct volcano, in Number 
one Platoon of A Company, was once Pri- 
vate Mucklewame.) 



148 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOTJSAND 

And yet people talk about the sinking of the 
Birkenhead! 

This morning some one in the Department 
has scored another ten points. Word has 
just been received that we are to move again 
to-morrow — to a precisely similar set of huts 
about a hundred yards away ! 

They are mad wags on Olympus. 



XII 

AND SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 

''Firing parrty, revairse arrms!^" 

Thus the platoon sergeant — a little anxi- 
ously; for we are new to this feat, and only 
rehearsed it for a few minutes this morning. 

It is a sunny afternoon in late February. 
The winter of our discontent is past. (At 
least, we hope so.) Comfortless months of 
training are safely behind us, and lo ! we have 
grown from a fortuitous concourse of atoms 
to a cohesive unit of fighting men. Spring is 
coming; spring is coming; our blood runs 
quicker; active service is within measurable 
distance; and the future beckons to us with 
both hands to step down at last into the arena, 
and try our fortune amid the uncertain but 
illimitable chances of the greatest game in the 
world. 

To all of us, that is, save one. 

The road running up the hill from the little 
mortuary is lined on either side by members 
of our company, specklessly turned out and 



150 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

standing to attention. At the' foot of the 
slope a gun-carriage is waiting, drawn by two 
great dray horses and controlled by a private 
of the Royal Artillery, who looks incongru- 
ously perky and cockney amid that silent, 
kilted assemblage. The firing party form a 
short lane from the gun-carriage to the door 
of the mortuary. In response to the ser- 
geant's command, each man turns over his 
rifle, and setting the muzzle carefully upon 
his right boot — after all, it argues no extra 
respect to the dead to get your barrel filled 
with mud — rests his hands upon the butt- 
plate and bows his head, as laid down in the 
King's Eegulations. 

The bearers move slowly down the path 
from the mortuary, and place the coffin upon 
the gun-carriage. Upon the lid lie a very 
dingy glengarry, a stained leather belt, and a 
bayonet. They are humble trophies, but we 
pay them as much reverence as we would to 
the baton and cocked hat of a field-marshal, 
for they are the insignia of a man who has 
given his life for his country. 

On the hill-top above us, where the great 
military hospital rears its clock-tower four- 
square to the sky, a line of convalescents, in 
natty blue uniforms with white facings and 
red ties, lean over the railings deeply inter- 
ested. Some of them are bandaged, others are 
in slings, and all are more or less maimed. 
They follow the obsequies below with critical 
approval. They have been present at enough 



SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 151 

hnrried and promiscuous interments of late — 
more than one of them has only just escaped 
being the central figure at one of these func- 
tions — that they are capable of appreciating 
a properly conducted funeral at its true value. 

** They 're putting away a bloomin' Jock,'' 
remarks a gentleman with an empty sleeve. 

*^And very nice, too!" responds another on 
crutches, as the firing party present arms with 
creditable precision. *^Not 'arf a bad bit of 
eye-wash at all for a bandy-legged lot of coal- 
shovellers." 

^^That lot's out of K(l)," explains a well- 
informed invalid with his head in bandages. 
** Pretty 'ot stuff they're gettin'. Tres mou- 
tar del Now we 're off . " 

The signal is passed up the road to the 
band, who are waiting at the head of the pro- 
cession, and the pipes break into a lament. 
Corporals step forward and lay four wreaths 
upon the coffin — one from each company. 
Not a man in the battalion has failed to con- 
tribute his penny to those wreaths; and pen- 
nies are not too common with us, especially on 
a Thursday, which comes just before pay-day. 
The British private is commonly reputed to 
spend all, or most of, his pocket-money upon 
beer. But I can tell you this, that if you give 
him his choice between buying himself a pint 
of beer and subscribing to a wreath, he will 
most decidedly go thirsty. 

The serio-comic charioteer gives his reins 
a twitch, the horses wake up, and the gun- 



152 THE FIRST HUISTDEED THOUSAND 

carriage begins to move slowly along tlie lane 
of mourners. As the dead private passes on 
Ms way the walls of the lane melt, and his 
comrades fall into their nsnal fours behind 
the gun-carriage. 

So we pass up the hill towards the military 
cemetery, with the pipes wailing their hearts 
out, and the muffled drums marking the time 
of our regulation slow step. Each foot seems 
to hang in the air before the drums bid us put 
it down. 

In the very rear of the procession you may 
see the company commander and three sub- 
alterns. They give no orders, and exact no 
attention. To employ a colloquialism, this is 
not their funeral. 

Just behind the gun-carriage stalks a soli- 
tary figure in civilian clothes — the unmistak- 
able ^^ blacks" of an Elder of the Kirk. At 
first sight, you have a feeling that some one 
has strayed into the procession who has no 
right there. But no one has a better. The 
sturdy old man behind the coffin is named 
Adam Carmichael, and he is here, having 
travelled south from Dumbarton by the night 
train, to attend the funeral of his only son. 



n 



Peter Carmichael was one of the first to 
enlist in the regiment. There was another 
Carmichael in the same company, so Peter at 



SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 153 

roll-call was usually addressed by the sergeant 
as ^ * Twenty-seven fufty-fower Carmichael, " 
2754 being his regimental number. The army 
does not encourage Christian names. When 
his attestation paper was filled up, he gave his 
age as nineteen ; his address, vaguely, as Een- 
f rewshire ; and his trade, not without an air, 
as a ^^holder-on." To the mystified Bobby 
Little he entered upon a lengthy explanation 
of the term in a language composed almost 
entirely of vowels, from which that officer 
gathered, dimly, that holding-on had some- 
thing to do with shipbuilding. 

Upon the barrack square his platoon com- 
mander 's attention was again drawn to Peter, 
owing to the passionate enthusiasm with 
which he performed the simplest evolutions, 
such as forming fours and sloping arms — 
military exercises which do not intrigue the 
average private to any great extent. Unfor- 
tunately, desire frequently outran perform- 
ance. Peter was undersized, unmuscular, and 
extraordinarily clumsy. For a long time 
Bobby Little thought that Peter, like one 
or two of his comrades, was left-handed, so 
made allowances. Ultimately he discovered 
that his indulgence was misplaced: Peter 
was equally incompetent with either hand. 
He took longer in learning to ^x bayonets 
or present arms than any other man in the 
platoon. To be fair, Nature had done little 
to help him. He was thirty-three inches 
round the chest, five feet four in height, 



154 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

and weighed possibly nine stone. His com- 
plexion was pasty, and, as Captain Wagstaffe 
remarked, you could hang your hat on any 
bone in his body. His eyesight was not all 
that the Regulations require, and on the mus- 
ketry-range he was ^^put back,^' to his deep 
distress, ^^for further instruction." Alto- 
gether, if you had not known the doctor who 
passed him, you would have said it was a 
mystery how he passed the doctor. 

But he possessed the one essential attribute 
of the soldier. He had a big heart. He was 
keen. He allowed nothing to come between 
him and his beloved duties. (^'He was aye 
daft for to go sogerinV' his father explained 
to Captain Blaikie; ^^but his mother would 
never let him away. He was ower wee, and 
ower young.") His rifle, buttons, and boots 
were always without blemish. Further, he 
was of the opinion that a merry heart goes 
all the way. He never sulked when the 
platoon were kept on parade ^ve minutes 
after the breakfast bugle had sounded. He 
made no bones about obeying orders and 
saluting officers — acts of abasement which 
grated sorely at times upon his colleagues, 
who reverenced no one except themselves 
and their Union. He appeared to revel in 
muddy route-marches, and invariably pro- 
voked and led the choruses. The men called 
him ^*Wee Pe'er," and ultimately adopted 
him as a sort of company mascot. Whereat 
Pe'er's heart glowed; for when your asso- 



SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 155 

ciates attach a diminutive to your Christian 
name, you possess something which million- 
aires would gladly give half their fortune to 
purchase. 

And certainly he required all the social 
success he could win, for professionally Peter 
found life a rigorous affair. Sometimes, as 
he staggered into barracks after a long day, 
carrying a rifle made of lead and wearing a 
pair of boots weighing a hundredweight 
apiece, he dropped dead asleep on his bed- 
ding before he could eat his dinner. But he 
always hotly denied the imputation that he 
was *^sick.'' 

Time passed. The regiment was shaking 
down. Seven of Peter's particular cronies 
were raised to the rank of lance-corporal — 
but not Peter. He was ^^off the square" 
now — that is to say, he was done with re- 
cruit drill for ever. He possessed a sound 
knowledge of advance-guard and outpost 
work; his conduct-sheet was a blank page. 
But he was not promoted. He was *^ower 
wee for a stripe," he told himself. For the 
present he must expect to be passed over. 
His chance would come later, when he had 
filled out a little and got rid of his cough. 

The winter dragged on: the weather was 
appalling: the grousers gave tongue with 
no uncertain voice, each streaming field-day. 
But Wee Pe'er enjoyed it all. He did not 
care if it snowed ink. He was a ^ ^ so jer. " 

One day, to his great delight,, he was 



156 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

*^ warned for guard'' — a particnlarly un- 
popular branch of a soldier's duties, for it 
means sitting in the guard-room for twenty- 
four hours at a stretch, fully dressed and 
accoutred, with intervals of sentry-go, usu- 
ally in heavy rain, by way of exercise. When 
Peter 's turn for sentry-go came on he splashed 
up and down his muddy beat — the battalion 
was in billets now, and the usual sentry's 
verandah was lacking — as proud as a pea- 
cock, saluting officers according to their rank, 
challenging stray civilians with great sever- 
ity, and turning out the guard on the slight- 
est provocation. He was at his post, soaked 
right through his greatcoat, when the orderly 
officer made his night round. Peter sum- 
moned his colleagues; the usual inspection 
of the guard took place; and the sleepy 
men were then dismissed to their fireside. 
Peter remained; the officer hesitated. He 
was supposed to examine the sentry in his 
knowledge of his duties. It was a profit- 
less task as a rule. The tongue-tied youth 
merely gaped like a stranded fish, until the 
sergeant mercifully intervened, in some such 
words as these — 

' ' This man, sirr, is liable to get over-excited 
when addressed by an officer." 

Then, soothingly — 

**Now, Jimmy, tell the officer what would 
ye dae in case of fire?" 

^^ Present airrms !" announces the desperate 
James. Or else, almost tearfully, *^I canna 



SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 157 

mind. I had it all fine just noo, but it *s awa ' 
oot o' ma heid!" 

Therefore it was with no great sense of 
anticipation that the orderly officer said to 
Private Carmichael, — 

^^Now, sentry, can you repeat any of your 
duties?" 

Peter saluted, took a full breath, closed 
both eyes, and replied rapidly, — 

*^For tae tak' chairge of all Government 
property within sicht of this guairdhoose 
tae turrn out the guaird for all arrmed 
pairties approaching also the commanding 
officer once a day tae salute all officers tae 
challenge all pairsons approaching this post 
tae- " 

His recital was interrupted by a fit of 
coughing. 

' ^ Thank you, ' ' said the officer hastily ; ' ' that 
will do. Good night ! ' ' 

Peter, not sure whether it would be correct 
to say *^good night" too, saluted again, and 
returned to his cough. 

**I say," said the officer, turning back, **you 
have a shocking cold. ^ ' 

*^Och, never heed it, sirr," gasped Peter 
politely. 

'^Call the sergeant," said the officer. 

The fat sergeant came out of the guard- 
house again, buttoning his tunic. 

*^Sirr?" 

'^Take this man off sentry-duty and roast 
him at the guard-room fire." 



158 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 



a 



I will, sirr/' replied the sergeant; and 
added paternally, ^Hhis man lias no right 
for to be here at all. He should have re- 
ported sick when warned for guard; but he 
would not. He is very attentive to his duties, 



sirr. ' ' 



**Good boy!'' said the officer to Peter. **I 
wish we had more like you. ' ' 

Wee Pe'er blushed, his teeth, momentarily 
ceased chattering, his heart swelled. Appear- 
ances to the contrary, he felt warm all through. 
The sergeant laid a fatherly hand upon his 
shoulder. 

*^Go you your ways intil the guard-room, 
boy,'' he commanded, ^^and send oot Dunshie. 
He'll no hurt. Get close in ahint the stove, 
or you'll be for Cambridge!" 

(The last phrase carries no academic signi- 
ficance. It simply means that you are likely 
to become an inmate of the great Cambridge 
Hospital at Aldershot.) 

Peter, feeling thoroughly disgraced, cast 
an appealing look at the officer. 

*^In you go!" said that martinet. 

Peter silently obeyed. It was the only time 
in his life that he ever felt mutinous. 

A month later Brigade Training set in with 
customary severity. The life of company 
officers became a burden. They spent hours 
in thick woods with their followers, taking 
cover, ostensibly from the enemy, in reality 
from brigade-majors and staff officers. A sub- 



SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 159 

altern never tied Ms platoon in a knot but 
a general came trotting ronnd the corner. 
The wet weather had ceased, and a biting 
east wind reigned in its stead. 

On one occasion an elaborate night opera- 
tion was arranged. Four battalions were to 
assemble at a given point ^Ye miles from 
camp, and then advance in column across 
country by the light of the stars to a position 
indicated on the map, where they were to de- 
ploy and dig themselves in ! It sounded simple 
enough in operation orders ; but when you try 
to move four thousand troops — even well- 
trained troops — across three miles of broken 
country on a pitch-dark night, there is always 
a possibility that some one will get mislaid. 
On this particular occasion a whole battalion 
lost itself without any delay or difficulty what- 
soever. The other three were compelled 
to wait for two hours and a half, stamping 
their feet and blowing on their fingers, while 
overheated staff officers scoured the country 
for the truants. They were discovered at 
last waiting virtuously at the wrong rendez- 
vous, three-quarters of a mile away. The 
brazen-hatted strategist who drew up the 
operation orders had given the point of 
assembly for the brigade as: . . . the field 
S.W. of Welliitgtok Wood and due E. of 
Hae-gmait's Copse, immediately helotu the first 
in Ghostly Bottom, — but omitted to under- 
line the O indicated. The result was that 
three battalion commanders assembled at the 



160 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

O in *' ghostly," while the fourth, ignoring 
the adjective in favour of the noun, took up 
his station at the first in *^ bottom." 

The operations had been somewhat optim- 
istically timed to end at 11 p.m., but by the 
time that the four battalions had effected a 
most unloverly tryst, it was close on ten, 
and beginning to rain. The consequence 
was that the men got home to bed, soaked 
to the skin, and asking the Powers Above 
rhetorical questions, at three o'clock in the 
morning. 

Next day Brigade Orders announced that 
the movement would be continued at night- 
fall, by the occupation of the hastily-dug 
trenches, followed by a night attack upon the 
hill in front. The captured position would 
then be retrenched. 

When the tidings went round, fourteen of 
the more quick-witted spirits of *^A" Com- 
pany hurriedly paraded before the Medical 
Officer and announced that they were **'sick 
in the stomach." Seven more discovered 
abrasions upon their feet, and proffered their 
sores for inspection, after the manner of 
Oriental mendicants. One skrimshanker, 
despairing of producing any bodily ailment, 
rather ingeniously assaulted a comrade-in- 
arms, and was led away, deeply grateful, to 
the guard-room. Wee Peter, who in the 
course of last night's operations had stumbled 
into an old trench half-filled with ice-cold 



SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 161 

water, and whose temperature to-day, had 
he known it, was a hundred and two, paraded 
with his company at the appointed time. 
The company, he reflected, would get a bad 
name if too many men reported sick at 
once. 

Next day he was absent from parade. He 
was *^for Cambridge'' at last. 

Before he died, he sent for the officer who 
had befriended him, and supplemented, or 
rather corrected, some of the information 
contained in his attestation paper. 

He lived in Dumbarton, not Eenfrewshire. 
He was just sixteen. He was not — this con- 
fession cost him a great effort — a full-blown 
^^holder-on'' at all; only an apprentice. His 
father was **weel kenf in the town of Dum- 
barton, being a chief engineer, employed by 
a great firm of shipbuilders to extend new 
machinery on trial trips. 

Needless to say, he made a great fight. 
But though his heart was big enough, his 
body was too frail. As they say on the sea, 
he was over-engined for his beam. 

And so, three days later, the simple soul of 
Twenty-seven fifty-four Carmichael, **A" 
Company, was transferred, on promotion, to 
another company — the great Company of 
Happy Warriors who walk the Elysian 
Fields. 



163 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 



in 



ec 



Firing parrty^ one round hlanJc — loadf 

There is a rattle of bolts, and a dozen 
barrels are pointed heavenwards. The com- 
pany stands rigid, except the bnglers, who are 
beginning to finger their instruments. 

''Firer' 

There is a crackling volley, and the pipes 
break into a brief, sobbing wail. Wayfarers 
upon the road below look np curiously. One 
or two young females with perambulators 
come hurrying across the grass, exhorting 
apathetic babies to sit up and admire the 
pretty funeral. 

Twice more the rifles ring out. The pipes 
cease their wailing, and there is an expectant 
silence. 

The drum-major crooks his little finger, and 
eight bugles come to the ^* ready." Then 
*^Last Post,'' the requiem of every soldier 
of the King, swells out, sweet and true. 

The echoes lose themselves among the drip- 
ping pines. The chaplain closes his book, 
takes off his spectacles, and departs. 

Old Carmichael permits himself one brief 
look into his son's grave, resumes his crape- 
bound tall hat, and turns heavily away. He 
finds Captain Blaikie's hand waiting for him. 
He grips it, and says — 

^^Weel, the laddie has had a grand sojer's 



SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 163 

funeraL His mother will be pleased to hear 
that/' 

He passes on, and shakes hands with the 
platoon sergeant and one or two of Peter's 
cronies. He declines an invitation to the 
Sergeants' Mess. 

^^I hae a trial-trnp the morn," he explains. 
*^I must be steppin'. God keep ye all, brave 
lads!" 

The old gentleman sets off down the 
station road. The company falls in, and 
we march back to barracks, leaving Wee 
Pe 'er — the first name on onr Eoll of Honour 
— alone in his glory beneath the Hampshire 
pines. 



XIII 

CONCEET PITCH 

We have only two topics of conversation now 
— tEe date of onr departure, and onr destina- 
tion. Both are wrapped in mystery so pro- 
found that our range of speculation is prac- 
tically unlimited. 

Conjecture rages most fiercely in the Offi- 
cers' Mess, which is in touch with sources 
of unreliable information not accessible to the 
rank and file. The humblest subaltern ap- 
pears to be possessed of a friend at court, 
or a cousin in the Foreign Office, or an aunt 
in the Intelligence Department, from whom 
he can derive fresh and entirely different 
information each week-end leave. 

Master Cockerell, for instance, has it 
straight from the Horse Guards that we 
are going out next week — as a single unit, 
to be brigaded with two seasoned regi- 
ments in Flanders. He has a considerable 
following. 

Then comes Waddell, who has been in- 
formed by the Assistant sub-Editor of an 



COJ^CERT PITCH 165 

evening jonrnal widely read in Ms native 
Dundee, that The First Hundred Thousand 
are to sit here, eating the bread of im- 
patience, until The First Half Million are 
ready. Thereupon we shall break through 
our foeman's line at a point hitherto un~ 
assailed and known only to the scribe of 
Dundee, and proceed to roll up the German 
Empire as if it were a carpet, into some 
obscure corner of the continent of Europe. 

Bobby Little, not the least of whose gifts is 
a soaring imagination, has mapped out a sort 
of strategical Cook's Tour for us, beginning 
with the sack of Constantinople, and ending, 
after a glorified route-march up the Danube 
and down the Ehine, which shall include a 
pitched battle once a week and a successful 
siege once a month, with a *^ circus" entry 
into Potsdam. 

Captain Wagstaffe offers no opinion, but 
darkly recommends us to order pith helmets. 
However, we are rather suspicious of Captain 
Wagstaffe these days. He suffers from an 
over-developed sense of humour. 

The rank and file keep closer to earth in 
their prognostications. In fact, some of them 
cleave to the dust. With them it is a case of 
hope deferred. Quite half of them enlisted 
under the firm belief that they would forth- 
with be furnished with a rifle and ammunition 
and despatched to a vague place called ^^the 
front," there to take pot-shots at the Kaiser. 
That was in early August. It is now early 



166 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

April, and they are still here, performing 
monotonous evolutions and chafing under 
the bonds of discipline. Small wonder that 
they have begun to doubt, these simple 
souls, if they are ever going out at all. 
Private M^Slattery put the general opinion 
in a nutshell. 

**This regiment," he announced, *4s no' 
for the front at all. We're jist tae bide 
here, for tae be inspecMt by Chinese Min- 
isters and other heathen bodies !'' 

This withering summary of the situation 
was evoked by the fact that we had once 
been called out, and kept on parade for two 
hours in a north-east wind, for the edifica- 
tion of a bevy of spectacled dignitaries from 
the Far East. For the Scottish artisan the 
word ^ ^minister," however, has only one sig- 
nificance; so it is probable that M^Slattery's 
strictures were occasioned by sectarian, rather 
than racial, prejudice. 

Still, whatever our ultimate destination 
and fate may be, the fact remains that we 
are now as fit for active service as seven 
months' relentless schooling, under mak- 
believe conditions, can render us. We shall 
have to begin all over again, we know, when 
we find ourselves up against the real thing, 
but we have at least been thoroughly 
grounded in the rudiments of our profession. 
We can endure hail, rain, snow, and vapour; 
we can march and dig with the best; we 
have mastered the first principles of mus- 



CONCERT PITCH 167 

ketry; we can advance in an extended line 
without losing touch or bunching; and we 
have ceased to regard an order as an insult, 
or obedience as a degradation. "We eat when 
we can and what we get, and we sleep 
wherever we happen to find ourselves lying. 
That is something. But there are certain 
military accomplishments which can only be 
taught us by the enemy. Taking cover, for 
instance. When the thin, intermittent 
crackle of blank ammunition shall have been 
replaced by the whistle of real bullets, we 
shall get over our predilection for sitting 
up and taking notice. The conversation of 
our neighbour, or the deplorable antics of 
B Company on the neighbouring skyline, 
will interest us not at all. We shall get 
down, and stay down. 

We shall also be relieved of the necessity 
of respecting the property of those exalted 
persons who surround their estates with 
barbed wire, and put up notices, even now, 
warning off troops. At present we either 
crawl painfully through that wire, tearing 
our kilts and lacerating our legs, or go 
round another way. **Oot there," such un- 
wholesome deference will be a thing of the 
past. Would that the wire-setters were 
going out with us. We would give them 
the place of honour in the forefront of 
battle ! 

We have fired a second musketry course, 
and are now undergoing Divisional Training, 



168 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

with the result that we take our walks 
abroad several thousand strong, greatly to 
the derangement of local traffic. 

Considered all round, Divisional Train- 
ing is the pleasantest form of soldiering that 
we have yet encountered. We parade bright 
and early, at full battalion strength, accom- 
panied by our scouts, signallers, machine- 
guns, and transport, and march off at the 
appointed minute to the starting-point. Here 
we slip into our place in an already moving 
column, with three thousand troops in front 
of us and another two thousand behind, and 
tramp to our point of deployment. We feel 
pleasantly thrilled. We are no longer a 
battalion out on a route-march: we are 
members of a White Army, or a Brown 
Army, hastening to frustrate the designs of 
a Blue Army, or a Pink Army, which has 
landed (according to the General Idea issued 
from Headquarters) at Portsmouth, and is 
reported to have slept at Great Snoreham, 
only ten miles away, last night. 

Meanwhile our Headquarters Staff is en- 
gaged in the not always easy task of ^* getting 
into touch" with the enemy — anglice, finding 
him. It is extraordinary how elusive a 
force of several thousand troops can be, 
especially when you are picking your way 
across a defective half -inch map, and the 
commanders of the opposing forces cherish 
dissimilar views as to where the point of 
encounter is supposed to be. However, con- 



CONCEET PITCH 169 

tact is at length established; and if it is 
not time to go home, we have a battle. 

Various things may now happen to you. 
You may find yourself detailed for the Firing- 
line. In that case your battalion will take 
open order; and you will advance, princi- 
pally upon your stomach, over hill and dale 
until you encounter the enemy, doing like- 
wise. Both sides then proceed to dis- 
charge blank ammunition into one another ^s 
faces at a range, if possible, of about ^ve 
yards, until the ^^ cease fire'' sounds. 

Or you may find yourself in Support. In 
that case you are held back until the battle 
has progressed a stage or two, when you 
advance with fixed bayonets to prod your 
own firing line into a further display of 
valour and agility. 

Or you may be detailed as Eeserve. 
Membership of Brigade Eeserve should be 
avoided. You are liable to be called upon 
at any moment to forsake the sheltered 
wood or lee of a barn under which you are 
huddling, and double madly up a hill or 
along a side road, tripping heavily over 
ingenious entanglements composed of the 
telephone wires of your own signallers, to 
enfilade some unwary detachment of the 
enemy or repel a flank attack. On the 
other hand, if you are ordered to act as 
Divisional Eeserve, you may select the softest 
spot on the hillside behind which you are 
sheltering, get out your haversack ration, 



170 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

and prepare to spend an extremely peaceful 
(or extremely dull) day. Mimic warfare 
enjoys one enormous advantage over the 
genuine article : battles — provided you are 
not out for tlie night — must always end in 
time for the men to get back to their dinners 
at ^ve o'clock. Under this inexorable law it 
follows that, by the time the General has got 
into touch with the enemy and brought his 
firing line, supports, and local reserves into 
action, it is time to go home. So about 
three o'clock the bugles sound, and the 
combatants, hot and grimy, fall back into 
close order at the point of deployment, where 
they are presently joined by the Divisional 
Keserve, blue-faced and watery-eyed with 
cold. This done, principals and understudies, 
casting envious glances at one another, form 
one long column of route and set out for 
home, in charge of the subalterns. The 
senior officers trot off to the *^pow-wow," 
there, with the utmost humility and defer- 
ence, to extol their own tactical dispositions, 
belittle the achievements of the enemy, and 
impugn the veracity of one another. 

Thus the day's work ends. Our divisional 
column, with its trim, sturdy, infantry bat- 
talions, its jingling cavalry and artillery, its 
real live staff, and its imposing transport 
train, sets us thinking, by sheer force of con- 
trast, of that dim and distant time seven 
months ago, when we wrestled perspiringly 
all through long and hot September days, 



CONCEET PITCH 171 

on a dusty barrack square, with squad upon 
squad of dazed and refractory barbarians, who 
only ceased shuffling their feet in order to ex- 
pectorate. And these are the self -same men! 
Never was there a more complete vindication 
of the policy of pegging away. 



n 



So much for the effect of its training upon 
the regiment as a whole. But when you 
come to individuals, certain of whom we have 
encountered and studied in this rambling nar- 
rative, you find it impossible to generalise. 
Your one unshakable conclusion is that it 
takes all sorts to make a type. 

There are happy, careless souls like McLeary 
and Hogg. There are conscientious but slow- 
moving worthies like Mucklewame and Budge. 
There are drunken wasters like — well, we 
need name no names. We have got rid of 
most of these, thank heaven! There are 
simple-minded enthusiasts of the breed of 
Wee Pe'er, for whom the sheer joy of 
**sojering" still invests dull routine and hard 
work with a glamour of their own. There 
are the old hands, versed in every labour- 
saving (and duty-shirking) device. There 
are the feckless and muddle-headed, making 
heavy weather of the simplest tasks. There 
is another class, which divides its time be- 
tween rising to the position of sergeant and 



172 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

being reduced to the ranks, for causes whicTi 
need not be specified. There is yet another, 
which knows its drill-book backwards, and 
can grasp the details of a tactical scheme as 
quickly as a seasoned officer, but remains in 
the ruck because it has not sufficient force of 
character to handle so much as a sentry-group. 
There are men, again, with initiative but no 
endurance, and others with endurance but 
no initiative. Lastly, there are men, and a 
great many of them, who appear to be quite 
incapable of coherent thought, yet can handle 
machinery or any mechanical device to a 
marvel. Yes, we are a motley organisation. 

But the great sifting and sorting machine 
into which we have been cast is shaldng us 
all out into our appointed places. The 
efficient and authoritative rise to non-com- 
missioned rank. The quick-witted and well- 
educated find employment on the Orderly 
Eoom staff, or among the scouts and 
signallers. The handy are absorbed into the 
transport, or become machine-gunners. The 
sedentary take post as cooks, or tailors, or 
officers ' servants. The waster hews wood and 
draws water and empties swill-tubs. The 
great, mediocre, undistinguished majority 
merely go to stiffen the rank and file, and 
right nobly they do it. Each has his 
niche. 

To take a few examples, we may begin 
with a typical member of the undistin- 
guished majority. Such an one is that 



CONCERT PITCH' 173 

esteemed citizen of Wishaw, John Muckle- 
wame. He is a rank-and-file man by train- 
ing and instinct, but he forms a rare backbone 
for K(l). There are others, of more parts — 
Killick, for instance. Not long ago he was 
living softly, and driving a Eolls-Royce for 
a Duke. He is now a machine-gun sergeant, 
and a very good one. There is Dobie. He 
is a good mechanic, but short-legged and 
shorter-winded. He makes an excellent 
armourer. 

Then there is Private Mellish. In his 
company roll he is described as **an actor." 
But his, orbit in the theatrical firmament has 
never carried him outside his native Dunoon, 
where he follows the blameless but monoton- 
ous calling of a cinematograph operator. On 
enlistment he invited the attention of his 
platoon from the start by referring to his 
rear-rank man as *Hhis young gentleman''; 
and despite all the dissuading influences of 
barrack-room society, his manners never fell 
below this standard. In a company where 
practically every man is addressed either as 
**Jock'' or ^* Jimmy,'' he created a profound 
and lasting sensation one day, by saying in 
a winning voice to Private Ogg, — 

**Do not stand on ceremony with me, Mr. 
Ogg. Call me Cyril ! ' ' 

For such an exotic there could only be one 
destination, and in due course Cyril became 
an officer's servant. He now polishes the 
buttons and washes the hose-tops of Captain 



174 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

Wagstai^e; and his elegant extracts amuse 
that student of human nature exceedingly. 

Then comes a dour, silent, earnest speci- 
men, whose name, incredible as it may 
appear, is M* Ostrich. He keeps himself to 
himself. He never smiles. He is not an 
old soldier, yet he performed like a veteran 
the very first day he appeared on parade. He 
carries out all orders with solemn thorough- 
ness. He does not drink; he does not swear. 
His nearest approach to animation comes at 
church, where he sings the hymns — especially 
God, our help in ages past! — as if he were 
author and composer combined. His harsh, 
rasping accent is certainly not that of a 
Highlander, nor doe« it smack altogether of 
the Clydeside. As a matter of fact he is 
not a Scotsman at all, though five out of 
six of us would put him down as such. Alto- 
gether he is a man of mystery; but the 
regiment could do with many more such. 

Once, and only once, did he give us a peep 
behind the scenes. Private Burke, of D 
Company, a cheery soul, who possesses the 
entirely Hibernian faculty of being able to 
combine a most fanatical and seditious brand 
of Nationalism with a genuine and ardent 
enthusiasm for the British Empire, one day 
made a contemptuous and ribald reference 
to the Ulster Volunteers and their leader. 
M* Ostrich, who was sitting on his bedding at 
the other side of the hut, promptly rose to 
his feet, crossed the floor in three strides, and 



CONCEET PITCH 175 

silently felled the humorist to the earth. 
Plainly, if M' Ostrich comes safe through the 
war, he is prepared for another and grimmer 
campaign. 

Lastly, that jack-of-all trades and master 
of none, Private Dunshie. As already re- 
corded, Dunshie's original calling had been 
that of a street news-vendor. Like all 
literary men, he was a Bohemian at heart. 
Eoutine wearied him; discipline galled him; 
the sight of work made him feel faint. After 
a month or two in the ranks he seized the 
first opportunity of escaping from the toils 
of his company, by volunteering for service as 
a Scout. A single experience of night opera- 
tions in a dark wood, previously described, 
decided him to seek some milder employment. 
•Observing that the regimental cooks appeared 
to be absolved, by virtue of their office, not 
only from all regimental parades, but from all 
obligations on the subject of correct attire 
and personal cleanliness, he volunteered for 
service in the kitchen. Here for a space — 
clad in shirt, trousers, and canvas shoes, un- 
utterably greasy and waxing fat — he pros- 
pered exceedingly. But one sad day he was 
detected by the cook-sergeant, having just 
finished cleaning a flue, in the act of washing 
his hands in ten gallons of B Company's soup. 
Once more our versatile hero found himself 
turned adrift with brutal and agonising sud- 
denness, and bidden to exercise his talents 
elsewhere. 



176 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

After a fortnight's uneventful dreariness 
with his platoon, Dunshie joined the machine- 
gunners, because he had heard rumours that 
these were conveyed to and from their labours 
in limbered waggons. But he had been mis- 
informed. It was the guns that were carried ; 
the gunners invariably walked, sometimes 
carrying the guns and the appurtenances 
thereof. His very first day Dunshie was 
compelled to double across half a mile of 
boggy heathland carrying two large stones, 
meant to represent ammunition-boxes, from 
an imaginary waggon to a dummy gun. It is 
true that as soon as he was out of sight of the 
corporal he deposited the stones upon the 
ground, and ultimately proffered two others, 
picked up on nearing his destination, to the 
sergeant in charge of the proceedings; but 
even thus the work struck him as unreason- 
ably exacting, and he resigned, by the simple 
process of cutting his next parade and being 
ignominiously returned to his company. 

After an unsuccessful application for em- 
ployment as a * ^ buzzer, ' ' or signaller, Dunshie 
made trial of the regimental transport, where 
there was a shortage of drivers. He had 
strong hopes that in this way he would attain 
to permanent carriage exercise. But he was 
quickly undeceived. Instead of being offered 
a seat upon the box of a G.S. waggon, he was 
bidden to walk behind the same, applying 
the brake when necessary, for fourteen miles. 
The next day he spent cleaning stables, 



CONCERT PITCH 177 

under a particularly officious corporal. On 
the third, he was instructed in the art of 
grooming a mule. On the fourth, he was left 
to perform this feat unaided, and the mule, 
acting under extreme provocation, kicked him 
in the stomach. On the fifth day he was re- 
turned to his company. 

But Mecca was at hand. That very morn- 
ing Dunshie's company commander received 
the following ukase from headquarters: — 

Officers commanding Companies will render 
to the Orderly Room without fail, hy 9 a.m. 
to-morrow J the name of one man qualified to 
act as chiropodist to the Company, 

Major Kemp scratched his nose in a dazed 
fashion, and looked over his spectacles at his 
Quartermaster-Sergeant. 

**What in thunder will they ask for next?" 
he growled. *^Have we got any tame chiro- 
podists in the company, Eaef 

Quartermaster-Sergeant Rae turned over 
the Company roll. 

** There is no — no — no man of that pro- 
fession here, sirr," he reported, after scanning 
the document. *^But,'' he added optimistic- 
ally, ^* there is a machine-fitter and a glass- 
blower. Will I warn one of them ? ' ' 

*^I think we had better call for a volunteer 
first," said Major Kemp tactfully. 

Accordingly, that afternoon upon parade, 
platoon commanders were bidden to hold a 



178 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

witch Imnt, and smell out a chiropodist. But 
the enterprise terminated almost immediately ; 
for Private Dunshie, caressing his injured 
abdomen in Number Three Platoon, heard the 
invitation, and quickly stepped forward. 

^ ^ So you are a chiropodist as well as 
everything else, Dunshie!'' said Ayling 
incredulously. 

^^ That's right, sirr," assented Dunshie 
politely. 

^ ' Are you a professional ? ' ' 

*^No exactly that, sirr," was the modest 
reply. 

^ * You just make a hobby of it ? " 

*^Just that, sirr." 

^^Have you had much experience?" 

*^No that much." 

*'But you feel capable of taking on the 
job?" 

**I do, sirr." 

**You seem quite eager about it." 

**Yes, sirr," said Dunshie, with gusto. 

A sudden thought occurred to Ayling. 

**Do you know what a chiropodist is?" he 
asked. 

^^No, sirr," replied Dunshie, with unabated 
aplomb. 

To do him justice, the revelation of the 
nature of his prospective labours made no 
difference whatever to Dunshie 's willingness 
to undertake them. Now, upon Saturday 
mornings, when men stand stiffly at attention 



CONCERT PITCH 179 

beside their beds to have their feet inspected, 
you may behold, sweeping majestically in the 
wake of the Medical Officer as he makes his 
rounds, the swelling figure of Private Dunshie, 
carrying the implements of his gruesome 
trade. He has found his vocation at last, 
and his bearing in consequence is something 
between that of a Court Physician and a StafE 
Officer. 



ni 



So much for the rank and file. Of the 
officers we need only say that the old hands 
have been a godsend to our young regiment; 
while the juniors, to quote their own Colonel, 
have learned as much in six months as the 
average subaltern learns in three years ; and 
whereas in the old days a young officer could 
always depend on his platoon sergeant to 
give him the right word of command or 
instruct him in company routine, the posi- 
tions are now in many cases reversed. But 
that by the way. The outstanding feature 
of the relationship between officers and men 
during all this long, laborious, sometimes 
heart-breaking winter has been this — that, 
despite the rawness of our material and the 
novelty of our surroundings, in the face of 
difficulties which are now happily growing 
dim in our memory, the various ranks have 
never quite given up trying, never altogether 
lost faith, never entirely forgotten the Cause 



180 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

which has brought us together. And the 
result — the joint result — of it all is a real 
live regiment, with a morale and soul of 
its own. 

But so far everything has been purely 
suppositious. We have no knowledge as to 
what our real strength or weakness may be. 
We have run our trial trips over a landlocked 
stretch of smooth water. To-morrow, when 
we steam out to face the tempest which is 
shaking the foundations of the world, we shall 
see what we shall see. Some of us, who at 
present are exalted for our smartness and 
efficiency, will indubitably be found wanting 
— wanting in stamina of body or soul — while 
others, hitherto undistinguished, will come to 
their own. Only War itself can discover the 
qualities which count in War. But we 
silently pray, in our dour and inarticulate 
hearts, that the supreme British virtue — the 
virtue of holding on, and holding on, and 
holding on, until our end is accomplished — 
may not be found wanting in a single one 
of us. 

To take a last survey of the regiment 
which we have created — one little drop in 
the incredible wave which has rolled with 
gathering strength from end to end of this 
island of ours during the past six months, 
and now hangs ready to crash upon the gates 
of our enemies — what manner of man has it 
produced? What is he like, this impromptu 
Thomas Atkins? 



CONCEET PITCH 181 

Well, when lie joined, Ms outstanding fea- 
ture was a sort of surly independence, the 
surliness being largely based upon the fear 
of losing the independence. He has got over 
that now. He is no longer morbidly sensitive 
about his rights as a free and independent 
citizen and the backbone of the British elec- 
torate. He has bigger things to think of. 
He no longer regards sergeants as upstart 
slave-drivers — frequently he is a sergeant 
himself — nor officers as grinding capitalists. 
He is undergoing the experience of the rivets 
in Mr. Kipling's story of ^^The Ship that 
Found Herself. *' He is adjusting his per- 
spectives. He is beginning to merge himself 
in the Eegiment. 

He no longer gets drunk from habit. "When 
he does so now, it is because there were no 
potatoes at dinner, or because there has been 
a leak in the roof of his hut for a week and 
no one is attending to it, or because his wife 
is not receiving her separation allowance. 
Being an inarticulate person, he finds getting 
drunk the simplest and most effective ex- 
pedient for acquainting the powers that be 
with the fact that he has a grievance. For- 
merly, the morning list of *^ drunks'' merely 
reflected the nearness or remoteness of pay- 
day. Now, it is a most reliable and invalu- 
able barometer of the regimental atmosphere. 

He has developed — quite spontaneously, 
for he has had few opportunities for imitation 
— many of the characteristics of the regular 



182 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

soldier. He is quick to discover Mmself 
aggrieved, but is readily appeased if lie feels 
that Ms officer is really doing Ms best for 
Mm, and that both of them are the victims 
of a higher power. On the other hand, he 
is often amazingly cheerful under uncomfort- 
able and depressing surroundings. He is 
growing quite fastidious, too, about his per- 
sonal appearance when oif duty. (You should 
see our quiffs on Saturdays!) He is quite 
incapable of keeping possession of his clothing, 
his boots, his rifle, his health, or anything 
that is his, without constant supervision and 
nurse-maiding. And that he is developing a 
strong bent towards the sentimental is evinced 
by the choruses that he sings in the gloaming 
and his taste in picture post-cards. 

So far he may follow the professional model, 
but in other respects he is quite sui generis. 
No sergeant in a Highland regiment of the 
line would ever refer to a Cockney private, 
with all humility, as *'a young English 
gentleman''; neither would an ordinary sol- 
dier salute an officer quite correctly with one 
hand while employing the other to light his 
pipe. In **K(1)" we do these things and 
many others, which give us a cachet of our 
own of which we are very rightly and properly 
proud. 

So we pin our faith to the man who has 
been at once our despair and our joy since 
the month of August. He has character; he 
has grit ; and now that he is getting discipline 



CONCEET PITCH 183 

as well, lie is going to be an everlasting credit 
to the cause wMch. roused his manhood and 
the land which gave him birth. 

That is the tale of The First Hundred 
Thousand — Part One. Whether Part Two 
will be forthcoming, and how much of it there 
will be, depends upon two things — the course 
of history, and the present historian's eye 
for cover. 



BOOK TWO 
LIVE BOUNDS 



XIV 

THE BACK OF THE PEONT 



The last few days have afforded us an excel- 
lent opportunity of studying the habits of 
that ubiquitous attendant of our movements, 
the Staff Officer. 

He is not always a real Staff Officer — the 
kind that wears a red hatband. Sometimes 
he is an obvious ** dug-out/' with a pronounced 
embonpoint or a game leg. Sometimes he is 
a mere stripling, with a rapidly increasing size 
in hats. Sometimes he is an ordinary human 
being. But whoever he is, and whatever his 
age or rank, one thing is certain. He has no 
mean: he is either very good or very bad. 
When he is good he is very good indeed, and 
when he is bad he is horrid. He is either 
Jekyll or Hyde. 

Thrice blessed, then, is that unit which, 
upon its journey to the seat of war, encoun- 
ters only the good of the species. To transfer 
a thousand men, with secrecy and despatch, 



188 THE FIEST HUNDKED THOUSAND 

from camp to train, from train to ship, from 
ship to train, and from train to a spot near 
the battle line, is a task which calls for the 
finest organisation and the most skilful ad- 
ministration. Let it be said at once that onr 
path to our present address has been almost 
universally lined with Jekylls. The few 
Hydes whom we have encountered are by 
this time merely a subject for amusing 
anecdote. 

As for the organisation of our journey — 
well, it was formulated upon Olympus, and 
was marked by those Olympian touches of 
which mention has been previously made. 
For instance, immense pains were taken, by 
means of printed rules and official memoranda, 
to acquaint us with the procedure to be fol- 
lowed at each point of entrainment or em- 
barkation. Consequently we set out upon 
our complicated pilgrimage primed with 
explicit instructions and ready for any 
emergency. We filled up forms with count- 
less details of our equipment and personnel, 
which we knew would delight the heart of 
the Round Game Department. We divided 
our followers, as directed, into Loading 
Parties, and Ration Parties, and Hold 
Parties, and many other interesting sub- 
divisions, as required by the rules of the 
game. But we had reckoned without the 
Practical Joke Department. The Round 
Game Department having furnished us with 
one set of rules, the Practical Joke Depart- 



THE BACK OF THE FEONT 189 

ment prepared another, entirely different, and 
issued ttiem to the officers who superin- 
tended such things as entrainment and 
embarkation. At least, that is the most 
charitable explanation of the course of action 
adopted by the few Mr. Hydes whom we 
encountered. 

Two of these humorists linger in the mem- 
ory. The first was of the type which is ad- 
miringly referred to in commercial circles 
as a hustler. His hustling took the form of 
beginning to shout incomprehensible orders 
almost before the train had drawn up at the 
platform. After that he passed from party 
to party, each of which was working strenu- 
ously under its own sergeant, and commanded 
them (not the sergeant) to do something else, 
somewhere else — a course of action naturally 
calculated to promote unity and celerity of 
action all round. A perspiring sergeant who 
ventured to point out that his party were 
working under the direct orders of their Com- 
pany Commander, was promptly placed under 
arrest, and his flock enjoyed a welcome and 
protracted breathing-space until an officer of 
sufficient standing to cope with Mr. Hyde — 
unfortunately he was Major Hyde — could be 
discovered and informed. 

The second required more tactful handling. 
As our train-load drew up at the platform, 
the officer in charge — it was Captain Blaikie, 
supported by Bobby Little — stepped out, 
saluted the somewhat rotund Colonel Hyde 



190 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

wltom he saw before Mm, and proffered a 
sheaf of papers. 

^^Good-morning, sir," he said. *^Here is 
my train statement. Shall I carry on with 
the unloading? I have all my parties 
detailed. ' ' 

The great man waved away the papers 
magnificently. (To be just, even the Jekylls 
used to wave away our papers.) 

^^Take those things away," he commanded, 
in a voice which made it plain that we had 
encountered another hustler. **Burn them, 
if you like! Now listen to me. Tell off an 
officer and seventy men at once. ' ' 

**I have all the necessary parties detailed 
already, sir." 

**Will you listen to me!" roared the 
Colonel. He turned to where Captain 
Blaikie's detachment were drawn up on the 
platform. *^Take the first seventy men of 
that lot, and tell them to stand over there, 
under an officer." 

Captain Blaikie gave the necessary order. 

*^Now," continued Colonel Hyde, ^*tell 
them to get the horses out and on board that 
steamer at once. The rest of your party are 
to go by another steamer. See?" 

' ' Yes, sir, perfectly. But ' ' 

**Do you understand my order?" thundered 
the Colonel, with increasing choler. 

*'I do, sir," replied Blaikie politely, 
'^but " 

**Then, for heaven's sake, carry on!" 



THE BACK OP THE FRONT 191 

Blaikie saluted. 

<^Very good, sir," lie answered. *^Mr. 
Little, come with me." 

He turned upon Ms heel and disappeared 
rapidly round a corner, followed by the mys- 
tified Bobby. 

Once out of the sight of the Colonel, Cap- 
tain Blaikie halted, leaned against a con- 
venient pillar, and lit a cigarette. 

^^And what do you think of that?" he 
inquired. 

Bobby told him. 

*^ Quite so," agreed Blaikie. ^^But what 
you say helps nobody, though doubtless 
soothing to the feelings. Now listen, Bobby, 
and I will give you your first lesson in the 
Tactical Handling of Brass Hats. Of course 
we might do as that dear old gentleman sug- 
gests, and send seventy horses and mules on 
a sea voyage in charge of a party of cooks, 
signallers, and machine-gunners, and let the 
grooms and drivers go with the bicycles and 
machine-guns and field kitchens. But I don't 
think we will. Nobody would enjoy the ex- 
periment much — except perhaps the mules. 
No : we will follow the golden rule, which is : 
When given an impossible job by a Brass 
Hat, salute smartly, turn about, and go and 
wait round a corner for five minutes. Then 
come back and do the job in a proper manner. 
Our five minutes are up : the coast should be 
clear. Come along, Bobby, and help me to 
exchange those two parties." 



192 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

But we encountered surprisingly few Hydes. 
Nearly all were Jekylls — Jekylls of the most 
competent and courteous type. True, they 
were inclined to treat our laboriously com- 
pleted returns with frivolity. 

^^ Never mind those things, old man,'* they 
would say. '*Just tell me who you are, and 
how many. That's right: now I know all 
about you. Got your working parties fixed 
up? Good! They ought to have everything 
cleared in a couple of hours. I'll see that a 
ration of hot tea is served out for them. 
Your train starts at a quarter past seven 
this evening — remember to call it nineteen- 
fifteen, by the way, in this country — and 
you ought to be at the station an hour 
before the time. I'll send you a guide. 
What a fine-looking lot these chaps of yours 
are! Best lot I've seen here for a very long 
time. Working like niggers, too ! Now come 
along with me for ten minutes and I'll show 
you where to get a bite of breakfast. Expect 
you can do with a bit ! " 

That is Brass-Hat Jekyll — officer and 
gentleman; and, to the eternal credit of the 
British Army, be it said that he abounds in 
this well-conducted campaign. As an in- 
stance of his efficiency, let the case of our 
own regiment be quoted. The main body 
travelled here by one route, the transport, 
horses, and other details by another. The 
main body duly landed, and were conveyed to 
the rendezvous — a distant railway junction in 



THE BACK OF THE FEONT 193 

Nortlierii France. There they sat down to 
await the arrival of the train containing the 
other party; which had left England many 
hours before them, had landed at a different 
port, and had not been seen or heard of since. 

They had to wait exactly ten minutes ! 

**Some Staff — whatr' as the Adjutant ob- 
served, as the train lumbered into view. 



n 



Most of us, in our travels abroad, have 
observed the closed trucks which are employed 
upon French railways, and which bear the 
legend — 






Eommes . • . .40 
Chevaux .... 8 

Doubtless we have wondered, idly enough, 
what it must feel like to be one of the forty 
hommes. Well, now we know. 

When we landed, we were packed into a 
train composed of fifty such trucks, and were 
drawn by a mighty engine for a day and a 
night across the pleasant land of France. 
Every six hours or so we were indulged 
with a Ealte Repas, That is to say, the train 
drew up in a siding, where an officer with 
E.T.O. upon his arm made us welcome, and 
informed us that hot water was available for 
making tea. Everybody had two days' ra- 
tions in his haversack, so a large-scale picnic 



194 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

followed. From the horse-trucks emerged 
stolid individuals with canvas buckets — you 
require to be fairly stolid to pass the night in 
a closed box, moving at twenty miles an hour, 
in company with eight riotous and insecurely 
tethered mules — to draw water from the 
hydrant which supplied the locomotives. 
The infant population gathered round, and 
besought us for ** souvenirs, ' ' the most popu- 
lar taking the form of ^^biskeet'^ or ^^bully- 
boeuf . ' ' Both were given freely : with but little 
persuasion our open-handed warriors would 
have fain squandered their sacred *^ emer- 
gency ration'' upon these rapacious infants. 

After refreshment we proceeded to inspect 
the station. The centre of attraction was 
the French soldier on guard over the water- 
tank. Behold this same sentry confronted 
by Private Mucklewame, anxious to comply 
with Divisional Orders and ^4ose no oppor- 
tunity of cultivating the friendliest relations 
with those of our Allies whom you may 
chance to encounter." So Mucklewame and 
the sentry (who is evidently burdened with 
similar instructions) regard one another with 
shy smiles, after the fashion of two children 
who have been introduced by their nurses at 
a party. 

Presently the sentry^ by a happy inspira- 
tion, proffers his bayonet for inspection, as 
it were a new doll. Mucklewame bows 
solemnly, and fingers the blade. Then he 
produces his own bayonet, and the two 



THE BACK OF THE FEONT 195 

weapons are compared — still in constrained 
silence. Then Mncklewame nods approvingly. 

**Verra goody!" lie remarks, profoundly 
convinced that he is speaking the French 
language. 

*^01righ! Tipperaree!" replies the sentry, 
not to be outdone in international courtesy. 

Unfortunately, the further cementing of 
the Entente Cordiale is frustrated by the 
blast of a whistle. We hurl ourselves into 
our trucks; the R.T.O. waves his hand in 
benediction ; and the regiment proceeds upon 
its way, packed like herrings, but ^*all jubi- 
lant with song. ' ' 



III 



We have been **oot here" for a week 
now, and although we have had no personal 
encounter with the foe, our time has not 
been wasted. We are filling up gaps in our 
education, and we are tolerably busy. Some 
things, of course, we have not had to learn. 
We are fairly well inured, for instance, to 
hard work and irregular meals. What we 
have chiefly to acquire at present is the 
art of adaptability. When we are able to 
settle down into strange billets in half an 
hour, and pack up, ready for departure, 
within the same period, we shall have made 
a great stride in efficiency, and added enor- 
mously to our own personal comfort. 

Even now we are making progress. 



196 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

Observe the platoon who are marching into 
this farmyard. They are dead tired, and 
the sight of the straw-filled barn is too 
much for some of them. They throw them- 
selves down anywhere, and are asleep in 
a moment. When they wake up — or more 
likely, are wakened up — in an hour or 
two, they will be sorry. They will be 
stiff and sore, and their feet will be a tor- 
ment. Others, more sensible, crowd round 
the pump, or dabble their abraded extremi- 
ties in one of the countless ditches with 
which this country is intersected. Others 
again, of the more enterprising kind, repair 
to the house-door, and inquire politely for 
*Hhe wife." (They have long given up in- 
quiring for * ' the master. ' ' There is no master 
on this farm, or indeed on any farm through- 
out the length and breadth of this great- 
hearted land. Father and sons are all away, 
restoring the Bosche to his proper place in 
the animal kingdom. We have seen no 
young or middle-aged man out of uniform 
since we entered this district, save an occa- 
sional imbecile or cripple.) 

Presently **the wife'' comes to the door, 
with a smile. She can afford to smile now, for 
not so long ago her guests were Uhlans. Then 
begins an elaborate pantomime. Private 
Tosh says **Bonjourr!" in husky tones — last 
week he would have said *^Hey, Bella!" — 
and proceeds to wash his hands in invisible 
soap and water. As a reward for his in- 



THE BACK 0¥ THE FRONT 197 

genuity lie receives a basin of water: some- 
times the water is even warm. Meanwhile 
Private Cosh, the linguist of the platoon, 
proffers twopence, and says: **Doolay — ye 
unnerstandr' He gets a drink of milk, 
which is a far, far better thing than the 
appalling green scum-covered water with 
which his less adaptable brethren are wont 
to refresh themselves from wayside ditches. 
Thomas Atkins, however mature, is quite in- 
corrigible in this respect. 

Yes, we are getting on. And when every 
man in the platoon, instead of merely some, 
can find a place to sleep, draw his blanket 
from the waggon, clean his rifle and himself, 
and get to his dinner within the half-hour 
already specified, we shall be able justly to 
call ourselves seasoned. 

We have covered some distance this week, 
'and we have learned one thing at least, 
and that is, not to be uppish about our sleep- 
ing quarters. We have slept in chateaux, 
convents, farm-houses, and under the open 
sky. The chateaux are usually empty. An 
aged retainer, the sole inhabitant, explains 
that M. le Comte is at Paris; M. Armand at 
Arras ; and M. Guy in Alsace, — all doing their 
bit. M. Victor is in hospital, with Madame 
and Mademoiselle in constant attendance. 

So we settle down in the chateaux, and 
unroll our sleeping-bags upon its dusty par- 
quet. Occasionally we find a bed available. 
Then two officers take the mattress, upon 



198 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

the floor, and two more take what is left of 
the bed. French chateaux do not appear to 
differ much as a class. They are distin- 
guished by great elegance of design, infinite 
variety in furniture, and entire absence of 
drains. The same rule applies to convents, 
except that there is no furniture. 

Given fine weather, by far the most luxuri- 
ous form of lodging is in the open air. Here 
one may slumber at ease, fanned by the 
wings of cockchafers and soothed by an un- 
seen choir of frogs. Thete are drawbacks, 
of course. Mr. Waddell one evening spread 
his ground-sheet and bedding in the grassy 
meadow, beside a murmuring stream. It was 
an idyllic resting-place for a person of 
romantic or contemplative disposition. Un- 
fortunately it is almost impossible nowadays 
to keep one^s favourite haunts select. This 
was evidently the opinion of the large water- 
rat which Waddell found sitting upon his 
air-pillow when he returned from supper. 
Although French, the animal exhibited no 
disposition to fraternise, but withdrew in 
the most pointed fashion, taking an Aber- 
nethy biscuit with him. 

Accommodation in farms is best described 
by the word ** promiscuous.'' There are 
twelve officers and two hundred men billeted 
here. The farm is exactly the same as any 
other French farm. It consists of a hollow 
square of buildings — dwelling-house, barns, 
pigstyes, and stables — with a commodious 



THE BACK OF THE FEONT 199 

manure-heap, occupying the whole yard ex- 
cept a narrow strip round the edge, in the 
middle, the happy hunting-ground of innumer- 
able cocks and hens and an occasional pig. 
The men sleep in the barns. The senior offi- 
cers sleep in a stone-floored boudoir of their 
own. The juniors sleep where they can, and 
experience little difficulty in accomplishing 
the feat. A hard day's marching and a truss 
of straw — these two combined form an irre- 
sistible inducement to slumber. 

Only a few miles away big guns thunder 
until the building shakes. To-morrow a select 
party of officers is to pay a visit to the 
trenches. Thereafter our whole flock is to go, 
in its official capacity. The War is with us at 
last. Early this morning a Zeppelin rose into 
view on the skyline. Shell fire pursued it, and 
it sank again — rumour says in the British 
lines. Eumour is our only war correspondent 
at present. It is far easier to follow the course 
of events from home, where newspapers are 
more plentiful than here. 

But the grim realities of war are coming 
home to us. Outside this farm stands a tall 
tree. Not many months ago a party of 
Uhlans arrived here, bringing with them a 
wounded British prisoner. They crucified him 
to that self-same tree, and stood round him 
till he died. He was a long time dying. 

Some of us had not heard of Uhlans before. 
These have now noted the name, for future 
reference — and action. 



XV 

IN" THE TEENCHES — AN" OFF-DAY 

This town is under constant shell fire. It 
goes on day after day: it has been going on 
for months. Sometimes a single shell comes : 
sometimes half a dozen. Sometimes whole 
batteries get to work. The effect is terrible. 
You who live at home in ease have no con- 
ception of what it is like to live in a town 
which is under intermittent shell fire. 

I say this advisedly. You have no concep- 
tion whatsoever. 

We get no rest. There is a distant boom, 
followed by a crash overhead. Cries are 
heard — the cries of women and children. 
They are running frantically — running to ob- 
serve the explosion, and if possible pick up a 
piece of the shell as a souvenir. Sometimes 
there are not enough souvenirs to go round, 
and then the clamour increases. 

We get no rest, I say — only f rightfulness. 
British officers, walking peaceably along the 
pavement, are frequently hustled and knocked 
aside by these persons. Only the other day, 



IN THE TEEN"CHES — AN OFF-DAY 201 

a full colonel was compelled to turn up a side- 
street, to avoid disturbing a ring of excited 
children who were dancing round a beautiful 
new hole in the ground in the middle of a 
narrow lane. 

If you enter into a cafe or estaminet, a total 
stranger sidles to your table, and, having sat 
down beside you, produces from the recesses 
of his person a fragment of shrapnel. This he 
lays before you, and explains that if he had 
been standing at the spot where the shell 
burst, it would have killed him. You express 
polite regret, and pass on elsewhere, seeking 
peace and finding none. The whole thing is a 
public scandal. 

Seriously, though, it is astonishing what 
contempt familiarity can breed, even in the 
case of high-explosive shells. This little town 
lies close behind the trenches. All day long 
the big guns boom. By night the rifles and 
machine-guns take up the tale. One is fre- 
quently aroused from slumber, especially to- 
wards dawn, by a perfect tornado of firing. 
The machine-guns make a noise like a giant 
tearing calico. Periodically, too, as already 
stated, we are subjected to an hour's intimi- 
dation in the shape of bombardment. Shrap- 
nel bursts over our heads ; shells explode in 
the streets, especially in open spaces, or where 
two important streets cross. (With modern 
artillery you can shell a town quite methodi- 
cally by map and compass.) 

Brother Bosche's motto appears to be: **It 



202 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

is a fine morning. There is nothing in the 
trenches doing. We abundant ammunition 
have. Let us a little frightfulness into the 
town pump ! ' ' So he pumps. 

But nobody seems to mind. Of course 
there is a casualty now and then. Occasion- 
ally a hole is blown in a road, or the side of a 
house is knocked in. Yet the general atti- 
tude of the population is one of rather in- 
terested expectancy. There is always the 
cellar to retire to if things get really serious. 
The gratings are sandbagged to that end. At 
other times — well, there is always the pleas- 
ing possibility of witnessing the sudden re- 
moval of your neighbour's landmark. 

Officers breakfasting in their billets look up 
from their porridge, and say, — 

* ' That 's a dud ! That 's a better one ! Stick 
to it. Bill!'' 

It really is most discouraging, to a sensitive 
and conscientious Hun. 

The same unconcern reigns in the trenches. 
Let us imagine that we are members of a dis- 
tinguished party from Headquarters, about 
to make a tour of inspection. 

We leave the town, and after a short walk 
along the inevitable poplar-lined road turn 
into a field. The country all round us is 
flat — flat as Cheshire; and, like Cheshire, 
has a pond in every field. But in the hazy 
distance stands a low ridge. 

** Better keep close to the hedge," suggests 



m THE TEBNCflES — AN OFF-DAY 203 

the officer in charge. ** There are eighty guns 
on that ridge. It's a misty morning; but 
they've got all the ranges about here to a 
yard; so thej might " 

We keep close to the hedge. 

Presently we find ourselves entering upon 
a wide but sticky path cut in the clay. At 
the entrance stands a neat notice-board, which 
announces, somewhat unexpectedly: — 

Old Kent Road 

The field is flat, but the path runs down- 
hill. Consequently we soon find ourselves 
tramping along below the ground-level, with 
a stout parapet of clay on either side of us. 
Overhead there is nothing — nothing but the 
blue sky, with the larks singing, quite regard- 
less of the War. 

' ' Communication trench," explains the 
guide. 

We tramp along this sunken lane for the 
best part of a mile. It winds a good deal. 
Every hundred yards or so comes a great 
promontory of sandbags, necessitating four 
right-angle turns. Once we pass under the 
shadow of trees, and apple-blossom flutters 
down upon our upturned faces. We are 
walking through an orchard. Despite the 
efforts of ten million armed men, brown old 
Mother Earth has made it plain that seed- 
time and harvest shall still prevail. 

Now we are crossing a stream, which cuts 
the trench at right angles. The stream is 



204 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

spanned by a structure of planks — labelled, 
it is hardly necessary to say, Lon^don Bkidge. 
The side-street, so to speak, by which the 
stream rnns away, is called Jock's Joy. We 
ask why? 

*^It's the place where the Highlanders 
wash their knees, ' ' is the explanation. 

Presently we arrive at Piccadilly Circus, 
a mnddy excavation in the earth, from which 
several passages branch. These thorough- 
fares are not all labelled with strict regard 
for London geography. We note The Hay- 
market, also Piccadilly; but Artillery 
Lake seems out of place, somehow. On the 
site, too, of the Criterion, we observe a 
subterranean cavern containing three recum- 
bent figures, snoring lustily. This bears the 
sign Cyclists' Rest. 

We, however, take the turning marked 
Shaftesbury Avenue, and after passing 
(quite wrongly, don't you think?) through 
Trafalgar Square — six feet by eight — find 
ourselves in the actual firing trench. 

It is an unexpectedly spacious place. We, 
who have spent the winter constructing slits 
in the ground two feet wide, feel quite lost in 
this roomy thoroughfare. For a thoroughfare 
it is, with little toy houses on either side. 
They are hewn out of the solid earth, lined 
with planks, painted, furnished, and deco- 
rated. These are, so to speak, permanent 
trenches, which have been occupied for more 
than six months. 



IN THE TEENCHES — AN OFF-DAY 203 

Observe this eligible residence on your left. 
It has a little door, nearly six feet high, and 
a real glass window, with a little curtain. 
Inside, there is a bunk, six feet long, together 
with an ingenious folding washhand-stand, of 
the nautical variety, and a flap-table. The 
walls, which are painted pale green, are 
decorated with elegant extracts from the 
* * Sketch ' ' and ' ' La Vie Parisienne. ' ' Outside, 
the name of the villa is painted up. It is 
in Welsh — that notorious railway station in 
Anglesey which runs to thirty-three syllables 
or so — and extends from one end of the 
fagade to the other. A small placard an- 
nounces that Hawkers, Organs, and Street- . 
cries are prohibited. 

**This is my shanty," explains a machine- 
gun officer standing by. **It was built by a 
Welsh Fusilier, who has since moved on. He 
was here all winter, and made everything 
himself, including the washhand-stand. Some 
carpenter — what? of course I am not here 
continuously. We have six days in the 
trenches and six out; so I take turns with 
a man in the Midland Mudcrushers, who take 
turns with us. Come in and have some tea." 

It is only ten o^clock in the morning, but 
tea — strong and sweet, with condensed milk 
— is instantly forthcoming. Eefreshed by 
this, and a slice of cake, we proceed upon 
our excursion. 

The trench is full of men, mostly asleep; 
for the night cometh, when no man may sleep. 



206 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

They lie in low-roofed rectangular caves, like 
the interior of great cucumber-frames, lined 
with planks and supported by props. The 
cave is really a homogeneous afPair, for it is 
constructed in the R.E. workshops and then 
brought bodily to the trenches and fitted into 
its appointed excavation. Each cave holds 
three men. They lie side by side, like three 
dogs in a triple kennel, with their heads out- 
ward and easily accessible to the individual 
who performs the functions of '* knocker-up. '* 

Others are cooking, others are cleaning 
their rifles. The proceedings are superin- 
tended by a contemplative tabby cat, coiled 
up in a niche, like a feline flower in a 
crannied wall. 

**She used ter sit on top of the parapet," 
explains a friendly lance-corporal; **but be- 
came a casualty, owin' to a sniper mistakin' 
'er for a Guardsman's bearskin. Show the 
officer your back, Christabel ! ' ' 

"We inspect the healed scar, and pass on. 
Next moment we round a traverse — and walk 
straight into the arms of Privates Ogg and 
Hogg! 

No need now to remain with the distin- 
guished party from Headquarters. For the 
next half-mile of trench you will find your- 
selves among friends. *^K(1)" and Brother 
Bosche are face to face at last, and here you 
behold our own particular band of warriors 
taking their first spell in the trenches. 

Let us open the door of this spacious dug- 



m THE TEENCHES — AN OFF-DAY 207 

out — the image of an up-river bungalow, 
decorated with window-boxes and labelled 
Potsdam View — and join the party of four 
which sits round the table. 

^^How did your fellows get on last night, 
Wagstaffef inquires Major Kemp. 

**Very well, on the whole. It was a really 
happy thought on the part of the authorities 
— : almost human, in fact — to put us in along- 
side the old regiment." 

^ ^ Or what 's left of them. ' ' 

Wagstaffe nods gravely. 

**Yes. There are some changes in the Mess 
since I last dined there,'' he says. ** Anyhow, 
the old hands took our boys to their bosoms 
at once, and showed them the ropes. ' ' 

**The men did not altogether fancy look- 
out work in the dark, sir," says Bobby Little 
to Major Kemp. 

** Neither should I, very much," said Kemp. 
**To take one's stand on a ledge fixed at a 
height which brings one's head and shoulders 
well above the parapet, and stand there for 
an hour on end, knowing that a machine-gun 
may start a spell of rapid traversing fire at 
any moment — well, it takes a bit of doing, 
you know, until you are used to it. How did 
you persuade 'em, Bobby T' 

*^0h, I just climbed up on the top of the 
parapet and sat there for a bit," says Bobby 
Little modestly. ^^They were all right after 
that." 

**Had you any excitement, Ayling?" asks 



208 THE PIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

Kemp. ^*I hear rumours tliat you had two 
casualties. ' ' 

^^Yes,'' says Ayling. ^^Four of us went 
out patrolling in front of the trench '^ 

^^Who?" . 

'^Myself, two men, and old Sergeant Car- 
f rae. ' ' 

^^Carfrae?" WagstafPe laughs. ''That 
old fire-eater? I remember him at Paarde- 
berg. You were lucky to get back alive. 
Proceed, my son!" 

*'We went out," continues Ayling, ''and 
patrolled." 

"How?" 

"Well, there you rather have me. I have 
always been a bit foggy as to what a patrol 
really does — what risks it takes, and so on. 
However, Carfrae had no doubts on the 
subject whatever. His idea was to trot over 
to the German trenches and look inside. ' ' 

"Quite sol" agreed Wagstaffe, and Kemp 
chuckled. 

'^Well, we were standing by the barbed 
wire entanglement, arguing the point, when 
suddenly some infernal imbecile in our own 
trenches " 

'^Cockerell, for a dollar!" murmurs Wag- 
staff e. ' ^ Don 't say he fired at you ! ' ' 

"No, he did worse. He let off a fire- 
ball." 

'*Whew! And there you stood in the 
limelight ! ' ' 

"Exactly." 



m THE TRENCHES — AN OFF-DAY 209 

^^Whatdidyoudor' 

^*I had sufficient presence of mind to do 
what Carfrae did. I threw myself on my 
face, and shouted to the two men to do the 
same. ' ' 

^^Didtheyr' 

*^No. They started to run back towards 
the trenches. Half a dozen German rifles 
opened on them at once." 

*^ Were they badly hit?" 

'* Nothing to speak of, considering. The 
shots mostly went high. Preston got his 
elbow smashed, and Burke had a bullet 
through his cap and another in the region 
of the waistband. Then they tumbled into 
the trench like rabbits. Carfrae and I 
crawled after them." 

At this moment the doorway of the dug- 
out is darkened by a massive figure, and 
Major Kemp's colour-sergeant announces — 

*^ There's a parrty of Gairmans gotten oot 
o' their trenches, sirr. Will we open fire?" 

**Go and have a look at 'em, like a good 
chap, Wagger," says the Major. "I want 
to finish this letter." 

Wagstaffe and Bobby Little make their 
way along the trench until they come to a 
low opening marked Maxim Villa. They 
crawl inside, and find themselves in a semi- 
circular recess, chiefly occupied by an earthen 
platform, upon which a machine-gunis mounted. 
The recess is roofed over, heavily protected 
with sandbags, and lined with iron plates; 



210 THE PIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

for a macMne-gnn emplacement is the object 
of frequent and pressing attention from high- 
explosive shells. There are loopholes to right 
and left, but not in front. These deadly 
weapons prefer diagonal or enfilade fire. It 
is not worth while to fire them f rontally. 

Wagstaffe draws back a strip of sacking 
which covers one loophole, and peers out. 
There, a hundred and fifty yards away, across 
a sunlit field, he beholds some twenty grey 
figures, engaged in the most pastoral of pur- 
suits, in front of the German trenches. 

**They are cutting the grass," he says. 
**Let 'em, by all means! If they don't, we 
must. We don't want their bomb-throwers 
crawling over here through a hay-field. Let 
us encourage them by every means in our 
power. It might almost be worth our while 
to send them a message. Walk along the 
trench, Bobby, and see that no excitable 
person looses ofip at them." 

Bobby obeys; and peace still broods over 
the sleepy trench. The only sound which 
breaks the summer stillness is the everlasting 
crack, crack! of the snipers' rifles. On an 
off-day like this the sniper is a very necessary 
person. He serves to remind us that we are 
at war. Concealed in his own particular eyrie, 
with his eyes for ever laid along his telescopic 
sight, he keeps ceaseless vigil over the ragged 
outline of the enemy's trenches. Wherever a 
head, or anything resembling a head, shows 
itself, he fires. Were it not for his enthusiasm, 



m THE TEENCHES — AN OFF-DAY 211 

both sides would be sitting in their shirt- 
sleeves upon their respective parapets, regard- 
ing one another with frank curiosity; and 
that would never do. So the day wears on. 

Suddenly, from far in our rear, comes a 
boom, then another. Wagstaffe sighs re- 
signedly. 

**Why can't they let well alone?" he com- 
plains. ** What's the trouble now?" 

^*I expect it's our Divisional Artillery 
having a little target practice," says Captain 
Blaikie. He peers into a neighbouring trench- 
periscope. ^*Yes, they are shelling that farm 
behind the German second-line trench. Mak- 
ing good shooting too, for beginners," as a 
column of dust and smoke rises from behind 
the enemy's lines. ^^But brother Bosche will 
be very peevish about it. We don't usually 
fire at this time of the afternoon. Yes, there 
is the haymaking party going home. There 
will be a beastly noise for the next half -hour. 
Pass the word along for every man to get into 
his dug-out." 

The warning comes none too soon. In five 
minutes the incensed Hun is retaliating for 
the disturbance of his afternoon siesta. A 
hail of bullets passes over our trench. 
Shrapnel bursts overhead. High-explosive 
shells rain upon and around the parapet. 
One drops into the trench, and explodes, with 
surprisingly little effect. (Bobby Little found 
the head afterwards, and sent it home as a 
memento of his first encounter with reality.) 



212 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

Our trench makes no reply. There is no 
need. This outburst heralds no grand assault. 
It is a mere display of *^frightfulness," calcu- 
lated to cow the impressionable Briton. We 
sit close, and make tea. Only the look-out 
men, crouching behind their periscopes and 
loopholes, keep their posts. The wind is the 
wrong way for gas, and in any case we all 
have respirators. Private M'Leary, the 
humorist of **A" Company, puts his on, 
and pretends to drink his tea through it. 

Altogether, the British soldier appears 
sadly unappreciative either of **f rightful- 
ness'' or practical chemistry. He is a hope- 
less case. 

The firing ceases as suddenly as it began. 
Silence reigns again, broken only by a solitary 
shot from a trench-mortar — a sort of explo- 
sive postscript to a half hour's Hymn of Hate. 

*^And that's that!" observes Captain 
Blaikie cheerfully, emerging from Potsdam 
View. ^^The Hun is a harmless little creature, 
but noisy when roused. Now, what about 
getting home? It will be dark in half an 
hour or so. Platoon commanders, warn your 
men!" 

It should be noted that upon this occasion 
we are not doing our full spell of duty — that 
is, six days. We have merely come in for 
a spell of instruction, of twenty-four hours' 
duration, under the chaperonage of our elder 
and more seasoned brethren. 

Bobby Little, having given the necessary 



IN THE TRENCHES — AN OFF-DAY 213 

orders to his sergeant, proceeded to Trafalgar 
Square, there to await the mustering of his 
platoon. 

But the first arrival took the form of a 
slow-moving procession — a corporal, followed 
by two men carrying a stretcher. On the 
stretcher lay something covered with a 
ground-sheet. At one end projected a pair 
of regulation boots, very still and rigid. 

Bobby caught his breath. He was just 
nineteen, and this was his first encounter 
with sudden death. 

^^Who is itr' he asked unsteadily. 

The corporal saluted. 

'* Private M'Leary, sirr. That last shot 
from the trench-mortar got him. It came 
in kin' o' sideways. He was sittin' at the 
end of his dug-oot, gettin' his tea. Stretcher 
party, advance!" 

The procession moved off again, and dis- 
appeared round the curve of Shaftesbury 
Avenue. The off-day was over. 



XVI 

^'diety woek at the ceoss-eoads 

TO-NIGHT ' ' 

Last week we abandoned the rural billets in 
which we had been remodelling some of our 
methods (on the experiences gained by our 
first visit to the trenches), and paraded at 
full strength for a march which we knew 
would bring us right into the heart of things. 
No more trial trips; no more chaperoning! 
This time, we decided, we were *^for it." 

During our three weeks of active service we 
have learned two things — the art of shaking 
down quickly into our habitation of the 
moment, as already noted; and the art of 
reducing our personal effects to a portable 
minimum. 

To the private soldier the latter problem 
presents no difficulties. Everything is ar- 
ranged for him. His outfit is provided by the 
Government, and he carries it himself. It 
consists of a rifle, bayonet, and a hundred and 
twenty rounds of ammunition. On one side 
of him hangs his water-bottle, containing a 



DIETY WOEK AT THE CEOSS-EOADS 215 

quart of water, on the other, a haversack, 
occupied by his * 4ron ration' ^ — an emergency 
meal of the tinned variety, which must never 
on any account be opened except by order of 
the CO. — and such private efiFects as his 
smoking outfit and an entirely mythical item 
of refreshment officially known as *Hhe un- 
expended portion of the day's ration." On 
his back he carries a *^pack," containing his 
greatcoat, waterproof sheet, and such changes 
of raiment as a paternal Government allows 
him. He also has to find room therein for a 
towel, housewife, and a modest allowance of 
cutlery. (He frequently wears the spoon in 
his stocking, as a skean-dhu.) Eound his 
neck he wears his identity disc. In his 
breast-pocket he carries a respirator, to be 
donned in the event of his encountering the 
twin misfortunes of an east wind and a 
gaseous Hun. He also carries a bottle of 
liquid for damping the respirator. In the 
flap of his jacket is sewn a field dressing. 

Slung behind him is an entrenching tool. 

Any other space upon his person is at his 
own disposal, and he may carry what he likes, 
except ^ ' unsoldierly trinkets ' ' — whatever 
these may be. However, if the passion for 
self-adornment proves too strong, he may wear 
*^the French National Colours" — a compli- 
ment to our gallant ally which is slightly 
discounted by the fact that her national 
colours are the same as our own. 

However, once he has attached this outfit 



216 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

to Ms suffering person, and has said what lie 
thinks abont its weight, the private has no 
more baggage worries. Except for his blan- 
ket, which is carried on a waggon, he is his 
own arsenal, wardrobe, and pantry. 

Not so the officer. He suffers from em- 
harras de cJioix. He is the victim of his 
female relatives, who are themselves the 
victims of those enterprising tradesmen who 
have adopted the most obvious method of 
getting rid of otherwise unsaleable goods by 
labelling everything For Active Service — sl 
really happy thought when you are trying to 
sell a pipe of port or a manicure set. Have 
you seen Our Active Service Trouser-Press? 

By the end of April Bobby Little had 
accumulated, with a view to facilitating the 
destruction of the foe — 

An automatic Mauser pistol, with two 
thousand rounds of ammunition. 

A regulation Service revolver. 

A camp bed. 

A camp table. 

A camp chair. 

A pneumatic mattress. 

[This ingenious contrivance was meant to 
be blown up, like an air-cushion, and Bobby's 
servant expended most of the day and much 
valuable breath in performing the feat. Ulti- 
mately, in a misguided attempt to save his 
lungs from rupture, he employed a bicycle 
pump, and burst the bed.] 



DIETY WOEK AT THE CEOSS-EOADS 217 

A sleeping (or **flea") bag. 

A portable bath. 

A portable washband-stand. 

A dressing-case, heavily ballasted with cut- 
glass bottles. 

A primus stove. 

A despatch case. 

The ^^ Service" Kipling (about forty vol- 
umes.) 

Innumerable socks and shirts. 

A box of soap. 

Fifty boxes of matches. 

A small medicine chest. 

About a dozen first-aid outfits. 

A case of pipes, and cigarettes innumerable. 

[Bobby's aunts regarded cigars as not quite 
ascetic enough for active service. Besides, 
they might make him sick.] 

About a cubic foot of chocolate (various). 

Numerous compressed foods and concen- 
trated drinks. 

An ^^ active service" cooking outfit. 

An electric lamp, with several refills. 

A pair of binoculars. 

A telescope. 

A prismatic compass. 

A sparklet siphon. 

A luminous watch. 

A pair of insulated wire-cutters. 

^'There's only one thing youVe forgotten," 
remarked Captain Wagstaffe, when intro- 
duced to this unique colection of curios. 



218 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

''What is thatf inquired Bobby, always 
eager to learn. 

''A pantechnicon! Do yon known how 
mnch personal baggage an officer is allowed, 
in addition to what he carries himself T' 

''Thirty-five pounds." 

"Correct." 

"It sounds a lot," said Bobby. 

"It looks precious little!" was Wagstaffe's 
reply. 

"I suppose they won't be particular to a 
pound or so," said Bobby optimistically. 

"Listen," commanded Wagstaffe. "When 
we go abroad, your Wolseley valise, contain- 
ing this" — he swept his hand round the 
crowded hut — "this military museum, will 
be handed to the Quartermaster. He is a 
man of singularly rigid mind, with an exas- 
perating habit of interpreting rules and regu- 
lations quite literally. If you persist in this 
scheme of asking him to pass half a ton of 
assorted lumber as a package weighing thirty- 
five pounds, he will cast you forth and remain 
your enemy for life. And personally," con- 
cluded Wagstaife, "I would rather keep on 
the right side of my Eegimental Quarter- 
master than of the Commander-in-Chief him- 
self. Now, send all this stuff home — you can 
use it on manoeuvres in peace-time — and I 
will give you a little list which will not break 
the baggage-waggon 's back. ' ' 

The methodical Bobby produced a note- 
book. 



DIETY WOEK AT THE CEOSS-EOADS 319 

*^You will require to wash occasionally. 
Take a canvas bucket, some carbolic soap, 
and a good big towel. Also your tooth- 
brush, and — excuse the question, but do 
you shave f 

^* Twice a week," admitted the blushing 
Bobby. 

^^ Happy man! Well, take a safety-razor. 
That will do for cleanliness. Now for cloth- 
ing. Lots of socks, but only one change 
of other things, unless you care to take a 
third shirt in your greatcoat pocket. Two 
good pairs of boots, and a pair of slacks. 
Then, as regards sleeping. Your flea-bag and 
your three Government blankets, with your 
valise underneath, will keep you (and your 
little bedfellows) as warm as toast. You 
may get separated from your valise, though, 
so take a ground-sheet in your pack. Then 
you will be ready to dine and sleep simply 
anywhere, at a moment's notice. As regards 
comforts generally, take a * Tommy's cooker,' 
if you can find room for it, and scrap all the 
rest of your cuisine except your canteen. 
Take a few meat lozenges and some choco- 
late in one of your ammunition-pouches, in 
case you ever have to go without your break- 
fast. Eotten work, marching or fighting on 
a hollow tummy ! ' ' 

*^What about revolvers?" inquired Bobby, 
displaying his arsenal, a little nervously. 

**If the Germans catch you with that 
Mauser, they will hang you. Take the 



220 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

Webley. Then you can always draw Ser- 
vice ammunition.'' Wagstaffe ran his eye 
over the rest of Bobby's outfit. ** Smokes? 
Take your pipe and a tinder-box: you will 
get baccy and cigarettes to burn out there. 
Keep that electric torch ; and your binoculars, 
of course. Also that small map-case: it's a 
good one. Also wire-cutters. You can write 
letters in your field-message-book. Your com- 
pass is all right. Add a pair of canvas shoes 
— they're a godsend after a long day, — an 
air-pillow, some candle-ends, a tin of vaseline, 
and a ball of string, and I think you will do. 
If you find you still have a pound or so in 
hand, add a few books — something to fall 
back on, in case supplies fail. Personally, 
I'm taking * Vanity Fair' and * Pickwick.' 
But then, I 'm old-fashioned. ' ' 

Bobby took Wagstaffe's advice, with the 
result that that genial obstructionist, the 
Quartermaster, smiled quite benignly upon 
him when he presented his valise; while his 
brother officers, sternly bidden to revise their 
equipment, were compelled at the last moment 
to discriminate frantically between the claims 
of necessity and luxury — often disastrously. 

However, we had all found our feet, and 
developed into seasoned vagabonds when we 
set out for the trenches last week. A few 
days previously we had been inspected by 
Sir John French himself. 

And that," explained Major Kemp to his 



a 



DIETY WOEK AT THE CEOSS-EOADS 221 

subalterns, ** usually means dirty work at the 

cross-roads at no very distant period!" 

« 

Major Kemp was right- — quite literally 
right. 

Our march took us back to Armentieres, 
whose sufferings under intermittent shell fire 
have already been described. We marched 
by night, and arrived at breakfast-time. The 
same evening two companies and a section of 
machine-gunners were bidden to equip them- 
selves with picks and shovels and parade at 
dusk. An hour later we found ourselves pro- 
ceeding cautiously along a murky road close 
behind the trenches. 

The big guns were silent, but the snipers 
were busy on both sides. A German search- 
light was combing out the heavens above: a 
constant succession of star-shells illumined the 
earth beneath. 

**What are we going to do to-night, sir?" 
inquired Bobby Little, heroically resisting an 
inclination to duck, as a Mauser bullet spat 
viciously over his head. 

^^I believe we are going to dig a redoubt 
behind the trenches, ' ' replied Captain Blaikie. 
**I expect to meet an E.E. officer somewhere 
about here, and he will tell us the worst. 
That was a fairly close one, Bobby ! Pass the 
word down quietly that the men are to keep 
in to each side of the road, and walk as low as 
they can. Ah, there is our sportsman, I 
fancy. Good evening ! " 



222 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

A subaltern of that wonderful corps, the 
Eoyal Engineers, loomed out of the darkness, 
removed a cigarette from his mouth, and 
saluted politely. 

*^Good evening, sir," he said to Blaikie. 
**Will you follow me, please! I have marked 
out each man's digging position with white 
tape, so they ought to find no difficulty in 
getting to work. Brought your machine-gun 
officer?" 

The machine-gun officer, Ayling, was called 
up. 

**We are digging a sort of square fort," ex- 
plained the Engineer, **to hold a battalion. 
That will mean four guns to mount. I don't 
know much about machine-guns myself; so 
perhaps you " — to Ayling — * ^ will walk round 
with me outside the position, and you can 
select your own emplacements. ' ' 

*^I shall be charmed," replied Ayling, and 
Blaikie chuckled. 

**I'll just get your infantry to work first," 
continued the phlegmatic youth. *^This way, 
sir ! " 

The road at this point ran through a hollow 
square of trees, and it was explained to the 
working-party that the trees, roughly, fol- 
lowed the outlines of the redoubt. 

'^The trenches are about half -finished, " 
added the Engineer. '*We had a party from 
the Seaforths working here last night. Your 
men have only to carry on where they left 
off. It's chiefly a matter of filling sandbags 



DIRTY WORK AT THE CROSS-ROADS 233 

and placing them on the parapet." He 
pointed to a blurred heap in a corner of the 
wood. *^ There are fifty thousand there. 
Leave what you don't want!'' 

*^ Where do we get the earth to fill the sand- 
bags I" asked Blailde. ^'The trenches, or 
the middle of the redoubt?" 

*'0h, pretty well anywhere," replied the 
Engineer. **Only, warn your men to be care- 
ful not to dig too deep ! ' ' 

And with this dark saying he lounged ofl 
to take Ayling for his promised walk. 

**I'll take you along the road a bit, first," 
he said, **and then we will turn off into the 
field where the corner of the redoubt is, and 
you can look at things from the outside. ' ' 

Ayling thanked him, and stepped somewhat 
higher than usual, as a bullet struck the 
ground at his feet. 

*^ Extraordinary how few casualties one 
gets," continued the Sapper chattily. *^ Their 
snipers go potting away all night, but they 
don't often get anybody. By the way, they 
have a machine-gun trained on this road, but 
they only loose it olf every second night. 
Methodical beggars ! ' ' 

*^Did they loose it off last night?" 

'*No. To-night's the night. Have you 
finished here ? ' ' 

^^Yes, thanks!" 

**Right-o! We'll go to the next corner. 
You'll get a first-class field of fire there, I 
should say." 



224 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

The second position was duly inspected, tlie 
only incident of interest being the bursting 
of a star-shell directly overhead. 

^^ Better lie down for a minute," suggested 
the Engineer. 

Ayling, who had been struggling with a 
strong inclination to do so for some time, 
promptly complied. 

'^Just like the Crystal Palace on a benefit 
night!" observed his guide admiringly, as 
the landscape was lit up with a white glare. 
**Now you can see your position beautifully. 
You can fire obliquely in this direction, and 
then do a first-class enfilade if the trenches 
get rushed." 

**I see," said Ayling, surveying the position 
with real interest. He was beginning to en- 
joy selecting gun-emplacements which really 
mattered. It was a change from nine months 
of ^^ eye-wash." 

When the German star-shell had spent 
itself they crossed the road, to the rear 
of the redoubt, and marked the other 
two emplacements — in comparative safety 
now. 

*^The only trouble about this place," said 
Ayling, as he surveyed the last position, *4s 
that my fire will be masked by that house 
with the clump of trees beside it." 

The Engineer produced a small note-book, 
and wrote in it by the light of a convenient 
star-shell. 

**Eight-o!" he said. **I'll have the whole 



DIRTY WOEK AT THE CROSS-ROADS 225 



caboodle pushed over for you by to-morrow 
night. Anything else ? ' ' 

Ay ling began to enjoy himself. After you 
have spent nine months in an unprofitable 
attempt to combine practical machine-gun 
tactics with a scrupulous respect for private 
property, the realisation that you may now 
gratify your destructive instincts to the full 
comes as a welcome and luxurious shock. 

^* Thanks/' he said. *^You might flatten 
out that haystack, too." 

They found the others hard at work when 
they returned. Captain Blaikie was directing 
operations from the centre of the redoubt. 

*^I say,'' he said, as the Engineer sat down 
beside him, **I'm afraid we're doing a good 
deal of body-snatching. This place is ab- 
solutely full of little wooden crosses." 

'^Germans," replied the Engineer laconic- 
ally. 

*^How long have they been — here*?" 

*^ Since October." 

**So I should imagine," said Blaikie, with 
feeling. 

**The crosses aren't much guide, either," 
continued the Engineer. ^^The deceased are 
simply all over the place. The best plan is to 
dig until you come to a blanket. (There are 
usually two or three to a blanket.) Then tell 
off a man to flatten down clay over the place 
at once, and try somewhere else. It is a 
rotten job, though, however you look at it." 



226 THE PIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

**Have yon been here loiigV^ inqnired 
Bobby Little, who bad come across the road 
for a change of air. 

^'Long enongh! Bnt I'm not on duty con- 
tinnonsly. I am Box. Cox takes over to- 
morrow.'' He rose to his feet and looked at 
his watch. 

*^You ought to move off by half -past one, 
sir," he said to Blaikie. *^It begins to get 
light after that, and the Bosches have three 
shells for that cross-road over there down in 
their time-table at two-fifteen. They're a 
hide-bound lot, but punctual!" 

'* Thanks," said Blaikie. *'I shall not 
neglect your advice. It is half-past eleven 
now. Come along, Bobby, and we'll see how 
old Ayling is getting on." 

Steadily, hour by hour, in absolute silence, 
the work went on. There was no talking, 
but (under extenuating circumstances) smok- 
ing was permitted. Periodically, as the star- 
shells burst into brilliance overhead, the 
workers sank down behind a parapet, or, if 
there was no time, stood rigid — the one thing 
to avoid upon these occasions is movement of 
any kind — and gave the snipers a chance. It 
was not pleasant, but it was duty; and the 
word duty has become a mighty force in 
*^K(1)" these days. No one was hit, which 
was remarkable, when you consider what an 
artist a German sniper is. Possibly the light 
of the star-shells was deceptive, or possibly 



DIRTY WOEK AT THE CEOSS-ROADS 227 

there is some truth in the general rnmour 
that the Saxons, who hold this part of the 
line, are well-disposed towards us, and con- 
duct their offensive operations with a tactful 
blend of constant firing and bad shooting, 
which, while it satisfies the Prussians, causes 
no serious inconvenience to Thomas Atkins. 

At a quarter-past one a subdued order ran 
round the trenches; the men fell in on the 
sheltered side of the plantation; picks and 
shovels were checked; rifles and equipment 
were resumed; and the party stole silently 
away to the cross-road, where the three shells 
were timed to arrive at two-fifteen. When 
they did so, with true Teutonic punctuality, 
an hour later, our friends were well on their 
way home to billets and bed — with the dawn 
breaking behind them, the larks getting to 
work overhead, and all the infected air of the 
German graveyard swept out of their lungs 
by the dew of the morning. 

As for that imperturbable philosopher. Box, 
he sat down with a cigarette, and waited for 
Cox. 



XVII 

THE NEW WAKFAEE 

The trench system has one thing to recom- 
mend it. It tidies things up a bit. 

For the first few months after the war 
broke out confusion reigned supreme. Bel- 
gium and the north of France were one huge 
jumbled battlefield, rather like a public park 
on a Saturday afternoon — one of those parks 
where promiscuous football is permitted. 
Friend and foe were inextricably mingled, 
and the direction of the goal was uncertain. 
If you rode into a village, you might find 
it occupied by a Highland regiment or a 
squadron of Uhlans. If you dimly discerned 
troops marching side by side with you in the 
dawning, it was by no means certain that 
they would prove to be your friends. On the 
other hand, it was never safe to assume that 
a battalion which you saw hastily entrenching 
itself against your approach was German. It 
might belong to your own brigade. There was 
no front and no rear, so direction counted for 
nothing. The country swarmed with troops 



THE NEW WAEFARE 229 

wMch. had been left *4ii the air," owing to 
their own too rapid advance, or the equally 
rapid retirement of their supporters; with 
scattered details trying to rejoin their units ; 
or with despatch riders hunting for a peripa- 
tetic Divisional Headquarters. Snipers shot 
both sides impartially. It was all most 
upsetting. 

Well, as already indicated, the trench 
system has put all that right. The trenches 
now run continuously — a long, irregular, but 
perfectly definite line of cleavage — from the 
North Sea to the Vosges. Everybody has 
been carefully sorted out — human beings on 
one side, Germans on the other. (**Like the 
Zoo," observes Captain WagstafPe.) Nothing 
could be more suitable. You're there , and 
I'm here, so what do we care? in fact. 

The result is an agreeable blend of war and 
peace. This week, for instance, our battalion 
has been undergoing a sort of rest-cure a few 
miles from the hottest part of the firing line. 
(We had a fairly heavy spell of work last 
week.) In the morning we wash bur clothes, 
and perform a few mild martial exercises. In 
the afternoon we sleep, in all degrees of 
deshabille, under the trees in an orchard. In 
the evening we play football, or bathe in the 
canal, or lie on our backs on the grass, watch- 
ing our aeroplanes buzzing home to roost, 
attended by German shrapnel. We could 
not have done this in the autumn. Now, 
thanks to our trenches, a few miles away, we 



230 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

are as safe here as in the wilds of Argyllshire 
or West Kensington. 

But there are drawbacks to everything. 
The fact is, a trench is that most uninterest- 
ing of human devices, a compromise. It is 
neither satisfactory as a domicile nor efficient 
as a weapon of offence. The most luxuriant 
dug-out; the most artistic window-box — 
these, in spite of all biassed assertions to the 
contrary, compare unfavourably with a flat in 
Knightsbridge. On the other hand, the Imow- 
ledge that you are keeping yourself tolerably 
immune from the assaults of your enemy is 
heavily discounted by the fact that the enemy 
is equally immune from yours. In other 
words, you ^^get no forrarder'' with a trench; 
and the one thing which we are all anxious to 
do out here is to bring this war to a speedy 
and gory conclusion, and get home to hot 
baths and regular meals. 

So a few days ago we were not at all sur- 
prised to be informed, officially, that trench 
life is to be definitely abandoned, and Hun- 
hustling to begin in earnest. 

(To be just, this decision was made months 
ago: the difficulty was to put it into execu- 
tion. The winter weather was dreadful. The 
enemy were many and we were few. In Ger- 
many, the deviPs forge at Essen was roaring 
night and day: in Great Britain Trades 
Union bosses were carefully adjusting the 
respective claims of patriotism and personal 
dignity before taking their coats off. So we 



THE :N^EW WAEFAEE 231 

cannot lay our want of progress to the charge 
of that dogged band of Greathearts which has 
been holding on, and holding on, and holding 
on — while the people at home were making 
up for lost time — ever since the barbarian 
was hurled back from the Marne to the Aisne 
and confined behind his earthen barrier. We 
shall win this war one day, and most of the 
credit will go, as usual, to those who are in at 
the finish. But — when we assign the glory 
and the praise, let us not forget those who 
stood up to the first rush. The new armies 
which are pouring across the Channel this 
month will bring us victory in the end. Let 
us bare our heads, then, in all reverence, to 
the memory of those battered, decimated, in- 
domitable legions which saved us from utter 
extinction at the beginning.) 

The situation appears to be that if we get 
through — and no one seems to doubt that we 
shall : the difficulty lies in staying there when 
you have got through — we shall be committed 
at once to an endless campaign of village- 
fighting. This country is as flat as Cambridge- 
shire. Every yard of it is under cultivation. 
The landscape is dotted with farm-steadings. 
There is a group of cottages or an estaminet 
at every cross-roads. When our great invad- 
ing line sweeps forward, each one of these 
buildings will be held by the enemy, and must 
be captured, house by house, room by room, 
and used as a base for another rush. 

And how is this to be done ! 



232 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

Well, it will be no military -secret by the 
time tbese lines appear. It is no secret now. 
The answer to the conundrnm is — Bombs ! 

To-day, ont here, bombs are absolutely 
dernier cri. We talk of nothing else. We 
speak about rifles and bayonets as if they were 
so many bows and arrows. It is true that the 
modern Lee-Enfield and Mauser claim to be 
the most precise and deadly weapons of de- 
struction ever devised. But they were in- 
tended for proper, gentlemanly warfare, with 
the opposing sides set out in straight lines, a 
convenient distance apart. In the hand-to- 
hand butchery which calls itself war to-day, 
the rifle is rapidly becoming demode. For 
long ranges you require machine-guns; for 
short, bombs and hand-grenades. Can you 
empty a cottage by firing a single rifle-shot in 
at the door? Can you exterminate twenty 
Germans in a fortified back-parlour by a single 
thrust with a bayonet? Never! But you can 
do both these things with a jam-tin stuffed 
with dynamite and scrap-iron. 

So the bomb has come to its own, and has 
brought with it certain changes — tactical, or- 
ganic, and domestic. To take the last first, 
the bomb-officer, hitherto a despised underling, 
popularly (but maliciously) reputed to have 
been appointed to his present post through 
inability to handle a platoon, has suddenly at- 
tained a position of dazzling eminence. From 
being a mere super, he has become a star. In 
fact, he threatens to dispute the pre-eminence 



THE NEW WAEEAEE 233 

of that other regimental parvenu, the Ma- 
chine-Gun Officer. He is now the confidant of 
Colonels, and consorts npon terms of easy 
familiarity with Brigade Majors. He holds 
himself coldly aloof from the rest of ns, brood- 
ing over the greatness of his responsibilities ; 
and when he speaks, it is to refer darkly to 
^^ detonators," and *^ primers," and ^time- 
fuses." And we, who once addressed him de- 
risively as ** Anarchist," crowd round him and 
hang upon his lips. 

The reason is that in future it is to be a case 
of — ^ ^ For every man, a bomb or two ' ' ; and 
it is incumbent upon us, if we desire to prevent 
these infernal machines from exploding while 
yet in our custody, to attain the necessary 
details as to their construction and tender 
spots by the humiliating process of conciliat- 
ing the Bomb Officer. 

So far as we have mastered the mysteries 
of the craft, there appear to be four types of 
bomb in store for us — or rather, for Brother 
Bosche. They are : — 

(1) The hair-brush. 

(2) The cricket-ball. 

(3) The policeman's truncheon. 

(4) The jam-tin. 

The hair-brush is very like the ordinary 
hair-brush, except that the bristles are re- 
placed by a solid block of high-explosive. The 
policeman's truncheon has gay streamers of 
tape tied to its tail, to ensure that it falls 
to the ground nose downwards. Both these 



234: THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

bombs explode on impact, and it is nnadvisable 
to knock them against anything — say the 
back of the trench — when throwing them. 
The cricket-ball works by a time-fnse. Its 
manipulation is simplicity itself. The re- 
moval of a certain pin releases a spring 
which lights an internal fuse, timed to ex- 
plode the bomb in five seconds. You take 
the bomb in your right hand, remove the 
pin, and cast the thing madly from you. The 
jam-tin variety appeals more particularly 
to the sportsman, as the element of chance 
enters largely into its successful use. It is 
timed to explode about ten seconds after the 
lighting of the fuse. It is therefore unwise to 
throw it too soon, as there will be ample time 
for your opponent to pick it up and throw it 
back. On the other hand, it is unwise to hold 
on too long, as the fuse is uncertain in its 
action, and is given to short cuts. 

Such is the tactical revolution promised by 
the advent of the bomb and other new engines 
of war. As for its effect upon regimental and 
company organisation, listen to the plaintive 
voice of Major Kemp : — 

*^I was once — only a few months ago — 
commander of a company of two hundred 
and fifty disciplined soldiers. I still nomin- 
ally command that company, but they have 
developed into a heterogeneous mob of 
specialists. If I detail one of my subalterns 
to do a job of work, he reminds me that he is 
a bomb-expert, or a professor of sandbagging, 



THE NEW WAEFAEE 235 

or director of the knuckle-duster section, or 
Lord High Thrower of Stink-pots, and as 
such has no time to play about with such a 
common thing as a platoon. As for the men, 
they simply laugh in the sergeant-ma j or *s 
face. They are ^experts,' if you please, and 
are struck off all fatigues and company duty ! 
It was bad enough when Ayling pinched 
fourteen of my best men for his filthy 
machine-guns; now, the company has prac- 
tically degenerated into an academy of 
variety artists. The only occasion upon 
which I ever see them all together is pay- 
day!" 

Meanwhile, the word has just gone forth, 
quietly and without fuss, that we are to 
uproot ourselves from our present billets, 
and be ready to move at 5 a.m. to-morrow 
morning. 

Is this the Big Push at last? 



n 



"We have been waiting for the best part of 
two days and nights listening to the thunder 
of the big g)ins, but as yet we have received 
no invitation to ^^butt in.'' 

^'Plenty of time yet," explains Captain 
Blaikie to his subalterns, in reply to Bobby 
Little's expressions of impatience. *^It's this 
way. We start by * isolating' a section of 



236 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAN"D 

the enemy's line, and ponnd it with artillery 
for about forty-eight hours. Then the guns 
knock off, and the people in front rush the 
German first-line trenches. After that they 
push on to their second and third lines ; and 
if they can capture and hold them — well, 
that's where the fun comes in. We go for 
all we are worth through the gaps the others 
have made, and carry on the big push, and 
keep the Bosches on the run until they drop 
in their tracks! That's the situation. If we 
are called up to-night or to-morrow, it will 
mean that things are going well. If not, it 
means that the attack has failed — or, very 
likely, has succeeded, but it has been found 
impossible to secure the position — and a lot 
of good chaps have been scuppered, all for 
nothing. ' ' 



in 



/ Next morning has arrived, and with it the 
news that our services will not be required. 
The attack, it appears, was duly launched, 
and succeeded beyond all expectations. The 
German line was broken, and report says that 
four Divisions poured through the gap. They 
captured the second-line trenches, then the 
third, and penetrated far into the enemy's 
rear. 

Then — from their front and flanks, artil- 
lery and machine-guns opened fire upon them. 
They were terribly exposed; possibly they 



THE NEW WAEFARE 237 

had been liired into a trap. At any rate, the 
process of 'isolation'' had not been carried 
far enough. One thing, and only one thing, 
could have saved them from destruction and 
their enterprise from disaster — the support 
of big guns, and big guns, and more big guns. 
These could have silenced the hostile tornado 
of shrapnel and bullets, and the position could 
have been made good. 

But — apparently the supply of big-gun 
ammunition is not quite so copious as it 
might be. We have only been at war ten 
months, and people at home are still a little 
dazed with the novelty of their situation. 
Out here, we are reasonable men, and we 
realise that it requires some time to devise 
a system for supplying munitions which shall 
hurt the feelings of no pacifist, which shall 
interfere with no man's holiday or glass of 
beer, which shall insult no honest toiler by 
compelling him to work side by side with 
those who are not of his industrial taber- 
nacle, and which shall imperil no states- 
man's seat in Parliament. Things will be 
all right presently. 

Meanwhile, the attacking party fell back 
whence they came — but no longer four full 
Divisions. 



XVIII 

THE FEONT OF THE FEGNT 

We took over these trenches a few days ago ; 
and as the Germans are barely two hundred 
yards away, this chapter seems to justify its 
title. 

For reasons foreshadowed last month, we 
find that we are committed to an indefinite 
period of trench life, like every one else. 

Certainly we are starting at the bottom 
of the ladder. These trenches are badly 
sited, badly constructed, difficult of access 
from the rear, and swarming with large, fat, 
unpleasant flies, of the bluebottle variety. 
They go to sleep, chiefly upon the ceiling of 
one 's dug-out, during the short hours of dark- 
ness, but for twenty hours out of twenty- 
four they are very busy indeed. They divide 
their attentions between stray carrion — there 
is a good deal hereabout — ^and our rations. 
If you sit still for five minutes they also 
settle upon yoUy like pins in a pin-cushion. 
Then, when face, hands, and knees can en- 
dure no more, and the inevitable convulsive 



THE FEONT OF THE FRONT 239 

wriggle occurs, they rise in a vociferous 
swarm, only to settle again when the victim 
becomes quiescent. To these, high-explosives 
are a welcome relief. 

The trenches themselves are no garden 
city, like those at Armentieres. They were 
sited and dug in the dark, not many weeks 
ago, to secure two hundred yards of French 
territory recovered from the Bosche by bomb 
and bayonet. (The captured trench lies be- 
hind us now, and serves as our second line.) 
They are muddy — you come to water at three 
feet — and at one end, owing to their con- 
cave formation, are open to enfilade. The 
parapet in many places is too low. If you 
make it higher with sandbags you offer the 
enemy a comfortable target: if you deepen 
the trench you turn it into a running stream. 
Therefore long-legged subalterns crawl pain- 
fully past these danger-spots on all-fours, 
envying Little Tich. 

Then there is Zacchaeus. We call him by 
this name because he lives up a tree. There 
is a row of pollarded willows standing parallel 
to our front, a hundred and fifty yards away. 
Up, or in, one of these lives Zacchseus. We 
have never seen him, but we know he is 
there; because if you look over the top of 
the parapet he shoots you through the head. 
We do not even know which of the trees he 
lives in. There are nine of them, and every 
morning we comb them out, one by one, with 
a machine-gun. But all in vain. Zacchaeus 



240 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

merely crawls away into the standing corn 
behind his trees, and waits till we have fin- 
ished. Then he comes back and tries to 
shoot the machine-gun officer. He has not 
succeeded yet, but he sticks to his task with 
gentle persistence. He is evidently of a per- 
severing rather than vindictive disposition. 

Then there is Unter den Linden. This 
celebrated thoroughfare is an old communi- 
cation-trench. It runs, half -ruined, from the 
old German trench in our rear, right through 
our own front line, to the present German 
trenches. It constitutes such a bogey as 
the Channel Tunnel scheme once was: each 
side sits jealously at its own end, anticipat- 
ing hostile enterprises from the other. It is 
also the residence of ** Minnie." But we will 
return to Minnie later. 

The artillery of both sides, too, contributes 
its mite. There is a dull roar far in the rear 
of the German trenches, followed by a whir- 
ring squeak overhead. Then comes an earth- 
shaking crash a mile behind us. We whip 
round, and there, in the failing evening light, 
against the sunset, there springs up the sil- 
houette of a mighty tree in full foliage. Pres- 
ently the silhouette disperses, drifts away, 
and — 

**The coals is hame, right enough !'' com- 
ments Private Tosh. 

Instantly our guns reply, and we become 
the humble spectators of an artillery duel. 
Of course, if the enemy gets tired of 



THE FEONT OF THE FEONT 241 

* ^ searching ^ * the countryside for onr guns 
and takes to *^ searching'' our trenches in- 
stead, we lose all interest in the proceedings, 
and retire to our dug-outs, hoping that no 
direct hits will come our way. 

But guns are notoriously erratic in their 
time-tables, and fickle in their attentions. It 
is upon ZacchaBus and Unter den Linden — 
including Minnie — that we mainly rely for 
excitement. 

As already recorded, we took over these 
trenches a few days ago, in the small hours 
of the morning. In the ordinary course of 
events, relieving parties are usually able to 
march up under cover of darkness to the 
reserve trench, half a mile in rear of the 
firing line, and so proceed to their appointed 
place. But on this occasion the German 
artillery happened to be ** distributing coal" 
among the billets behind. This made it 
necessary to approach our new home by 
tortuous ways, and to take to subterranean 
courses at a very early stage of the journey. 
For more than two hours we toiled along a 
trench just wide enough to permit a man to 
wear his equipment, sometimes bent double 
to avoid the bullets of snipers, sometimes 
knee-deep in glutinous mud. 

Ayling, leading a machine-gun section who 
were burdened with their weapons and seven 
thousand rounds of ammunition, mopped his 
steaming brow and inquired of his guide how 
much farther there was to go. 



243 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

^^Abart two miles, sir/^ replied the youth 
with gloomy satisfaction. He was a private 
of the Cockney regiment whom we were re- 
lieving; and after the manner of his kind, 
would infinitely have preferred to conduct 
us down half a mile of a shell-swept road, 
leading straight to the heart of things, than 
waste time upon an uninteresting but safe 
detour. 

At this Ayling's Number One, who was 
carrying a machine-gun tripod weighing forty- 
eight pounds, said something — something 
distressingly audible — and groaned deeply. 

^*If we'd come the way I wanted, '^ con- 
tinued the guide, much pleased with the 
effect of his words upon his audience, ^*we'd 
a' been there be now. But the Adjutant, 'e 
says to me '' 

**If we had come the way you wanted,'' 
interrupted Ay ling brutally, ^*we should prob- 
ably have been in Kingdom Come by now. 
Hurry up ! " Ay ling, in common with the rest 
of those present, was not in the best of tem- 
pers, and the loquacity of the guide had been 
jarring upon him for some time. 

The Cockney private, with the air of a 
deeply-wronged man, sulkily led on, followed 
by the dolorous procession. Another ten 
minutes' laboured progress brought them to 
a place where several ways met. 

^^This is the beginning of the reserve 
trenches, sir," announced the guide. *^If 
we'd come the way I " 



THE FEONT OF THE FEONT 243 

''Lead on!'' said Ayling, and his perspir- 
ing followers murmured threatening applause. 

The guide, now in his own territory, 
selected the muddiest opening and plunged 
down it. For two hundred yards or so he 
continued serenely upon his way, with the 
air of one exhibiting the metropolis to a 
party of country cousins. He passed numer- 
ous turnings. Then, once or twice, he paused 
irresolutely; then moved on. Finally he 
halted, and proceeded to climb out of the 
trench. 

''What are you doing!" demanded Ayling 
suspiciously. 

''We got to cut across the open 'ere, sir," 
said the youth glibly. "Trench don't go no 
farther. Keep as low as you can. ' ' 

With resigned grunts the weary pilgrims 
hoisted themselves and their numerous bur- 
dens out of their slimy thoroughfare, and 
followed their conductor through the long 
grass in single file, feeling painfully con- 
spicuous against the whitening sky. Pres- 
ently they discovered, and descended into, 
another trench — all but the man with the 
tripod, who descended into it before he dis- 
covered it — and proceeded upon their dolor- 
ous way. Once more the guide, who had been 
refreshingly but ominously silent for some 
time, paused irresolutely. 

"Look here, my man," said Ayling, "do 
you, or do you not, know where you are 1 ' ' 

The paragon replied hesitatingly ; — 



244 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 
'* Well, sir, if we'd come by the way I — 



> J 



Ayling took a deep breath, and though 
conscious of the presence of formidable com- 
petitors, was about to make the best of an 
officer's vocabulary, when a kilted figure 
loomed out of the darkness. 

^^ Hallo! Who are you I" inquired Ayling. 

*^This iss the Camerons' trenches, sirr," 
replied a polite West Highland voice. **What 
trenches wass you seeking?" 

Ayling told him. 

*^They are behind you, sirr." 

*^I was just goin' to say, sir," chanted the 
guide, making one last effort to redeem his 
prestige, *^as 'ow " 

* ' Party, ' ' commanded Ayling, * ^ about turn ! ' ' 

Having received details of the route from 
the friendly Cameron, he scrambled out of 
the trench and crawled along to what was 
now the head of the procession. A plaintive 
voice followed him. 

^^Beg pardon, sir, where shall / go now?" 

Ayling answered the question explicitly, 
and moved off, feeling much better. The 
late conductor of the party trailed discon- 
solately in the rear. 

^^I should like to know wot I'm 'ere for," 
he murmured indignantly. 

He got his answer, like a lightning-flash. 

**For tae carry this/' said the man with 
the tripod, turning round. **Here, caatch! 



>> 



THE FEONT OF THE FEONT 245 



n 



The day's work in trenches begins about 
nine o'clock the night before. Darkness 
having fallen, various parties steal out 
into the no-man's-land beyond the parapet. 
There are numerous things to be done. 
The barbed wire has been broken up by 
shrapnel, and must be repaired. The whole 
position in front of the wire must be 
patrolled, to prevent the enemy from creep- 
ing forward in the dark. The corn has 
grown to an uncomfortable height in places, 
so a fatigue party is told oif to cut it — 
surely the strangest species of harvesting 
that the annals of agriculture can record. 
On the left front the muiHed clinking of 
picks and shovels announces that a **sap" 
is in course of construction: those incor- 
rigible night-birds, the Royal Engineers, are 
making it for the machine-gunners, who in 
the fulness of time will convey their voluble 
weapon to its forward extremity, and 
** loose off a belt or two" in the direction of a 
rather dangerous hollow midway between the 
trenches, from which of late mysterious 
sounds of digging and guttural talMng have 
been detected by the officer who lies in the 
listening-post, in front of our barbed-wire 
entanglement, drawing secrets from the 
bowels of the earth by means of a micro- 
phone. 



246 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

BeMnd the firing trench -even greater 
activity prevails. Damage done to the para- 
pet by shell fire is being repaired. Posi- 
tions and emplacements are being constantly 
improved, communication trenches widened 
or made more secure. Down these trenches 
fatigue parties are filing, to draw rations 
and water and ammunition from the lim- 
bered waggons which are waiting in the 
shadow of a wood, perhaps a mile back. It 
is at this hour, too, that the wounded, who 
have been lying pathetically cheerful and 
patient in the dressing-station in the reserve 
trench, are smuggled to the Field Ambulance 

— probably to find themselves safe in a Lon- 
don hospital within twenty-four hours. Lastly, 
under the kindly cloak of night, we bury our 
dead. 

Meanwhile, within various stifling dug- 
outs, in the firing trench or support-trench, 
overheated company commanders are dictat- 
ing reports or filling in returns. (Even now 
the Bound Grame Department is not entirely 
shaken oif.) There is the casualty return, 
and a report on the doings of the enemy, and 
another report of one's own doings, and a 
report on the direction of the wind, and so 
on. Then there are various indents to fill up 

— scrawled on a wobbly writing-block with a 
blunt indelible pencil by the light of a gutter- 
ing candle — for ammunition, and sandbags, 
and revetting material. 

All this literature has to be sent to Bat- 



THE FEONT OF THE FRONT 247. 

talion Headquarters by one a.m., eitlier by 
orderly or telephone. There it is collated 
and condensed, and forwarded to the Brigade, 
which submits it to the same process and 
sends it on, to be served up piping hot and 
easily digestible at the breakfast-table of the 
Division, five miles away, at eight o'clock. 

You must not imagine, however, that all 
this night-work is performed in gross dark- 
ness. On the contrary. There is abundance 
of illumination; and by a pretty thought, 
each side illuminates the other. We per- 
form our nocturnal tasks, in front of and 
behind the firing trench, amid a perfect hail 
of star-shells and magnesium lights, topped 
up at times by a searchlight — all supplied 
by our obliging friend the Hun. We, on our 
part, do our best to return these graceful 
compliments. 

The curious and uncanny part of it all is 
that there is no firing. During these brief 
hours there exists an informal truce, founded 
on the principle of live and let live. It would 
be an easy business to wipe out that working- 
party, over there by the barbed wire, with a 
machine-gun. It would be child's play to 
shell the road behind the enemy's trenches, 
crowded as it must be with ration-waggons 
and water-carts, into a blood-stained wilder- 
ness. But so long as each side confines 
itself to purely defensive and recuperative 
work, there is! little or no interference. That 
slave of duty, ZacchaBus, keeps on pegging 



248 THE EIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

away; and occasionally, if a hostile patrol 
shows itself too boldly, there is a little ex- 
uberance from a machine-gun; but on the 
whole there is silence. After all, if you pre- 
vent your enemy from drawing his rations, 
his remedy is simple: he will prevent you 
from drawing yours. Then both parties will 
have to fight on empty stomachs, and neither 
of them, tactically, will be a penny the better. 
So, unless some elaborate scheme of attack is 
brewing, the early hours of the night are 
comparatively peaceful. But what is that 
sudden disturbance in the front-line trench? 
A British rifle rings out, then another, and 
another, until there is an agitated fusilade 
from end to end of the section. Instantly 
the sleepless host across the way replies, and 
for three minutes or so a hurricane rages. 
The working parties out in front lie flat on 
their faces, cursing patiently. Suddenly the 
storm dies away, and perfect silence reigns 
once more. It was a false alarm. Some 
watchman, deceived by the whispers of the 
night breeze, or merely a prey to nerves, 
has discerned a phantom army approaching 
through the gloom, and has opened fire 
thereon. This often occurs when troops are 
new to trench-work. 

It is during these hours, too, that regi- 
ments relieve one another in the trenches. 
The outgoing regiment cannot leave its post 
until the incoming regiment has *^ taken 
over." Consequently you have, for a brief 



THE FEONT OF THE FEOISTT 249 

space, two thousand troops packed into a 
trench calculated to hold one thousand. 
Then it is that strong men swear themselves 
faint, and the Eugby football player has 
reason to be thankful for his previous train- 
ing in the art of * ^ getting through the scrum. ' ' 
However perfect your organisation may be, 
congestion is bound to occur here and there; 
and it is no little consolation to us to feel, 
as we surge and sway in the darkness, that 
over there in the German lines a Saxon and 
a Prussian private, irretrievably jammed 
together in a narrow communication trench, 
are consigning one another to perdition in 
just the same husky whisper as that em- 
ployed by Private Mucklewame and his ^* op- 
posite number'' in the regiment which has 
come to relieve him. 

These *^ reliefs" take place every four or 
five nights. There was a time, not so long 
ago, when a regiment was relieved, not when 
it was weary, but when another regiment 
could be found to replace it. Our own first 
battalion once remained in the trenches, un- 
relieved and only securing its supplies with 
difficulty, for five weeks and three days. 
During all that time they were subject to 
most pressing attentions on the part of the 
Bosches, but they never lost a yard of trench. 
They received word from Headquarters that 
to detach another regiment for their relief 
would seriously weaken other and most im- 
portant dispositions. The Commander-in- 



250 THE riEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

Chief would therefore be greatly obliged if 
they could hold on. So they held on. 

At last they came out, and staggered back 
to billets. Their old quarters, naturally, had 
long been appropriated by other troops, and 
the officers had some difficulty in recovering 
their kits. 

**I don't mind being kept in trenches for 
several weeks,'' remarked their commander 
to the staff officer who received him when 
he reported, ^*and I can put up with losing 
my sleeping-bag; but I do object to having 
my last box of cigars looted by the black- 
guards who took over our billets!" 

The staff officer expressed sympathy, and 
the subject dropped. But not many days 
later, while the battalion were still resting, 
their commander was roused in the middle 
of the night from the profound slumber which 
only the experience of many nights of anxious 
vigil can induce, by the ominous message : — 

*^An orderly to see you, from General Head- 
quarters, sir!" 

The colonel rolled stoically out of bed, and 
commanded that the orderly should be brought 
before him. 

The man entered, carrying, not a despatch, 
but a package, which he proffered with a 
salute. 

''With the Commander-in-Chief's compli- 
ments, sir ! " he announced. 

The package was a box of cigars ! 

But that was before the days of ''K(l)." 



THE FEONT OF THE FKONT 251 

But the night is wearing on. It is half- 
past one — time to knock off work. Tired 
men, returning from ration-drawing or sap- 
digging, throw themselves down and fall dead 
asleep in a moment. Only the sentries, with 
their elbows on the parapet, maintain their 
sleepless watch. From behind the enemy's 
lines comes a deep boom — then another. The 
big guns are waking up again, and have 
decided to commence their day's work by 
speeding our empty ration-waggons upon 
their homeward way. Let them! So long 
as they refrain from practising direct hits on 
our front-line parapet, and disturbing our 
brief and hardly-earned repose, they may fire 
where they please. The ration train is well 
able to look after itself. 

**A whiff o' shrapnel will dae nae harrm to 
thae strawberry- jam pinchers!'' observes 
Private Tosh bitterly, rolling into his dug- 
out. By this opprobrious term he designates 
that distinguished body of men, the Army 
Service Corps. A prolonged diet of plum- 
and-apple jam has implanted in the breasts 
of the men in the trenches certain dark and 
unworthy suspicions concerning the entire 
altruism of those responsible for the distribu- 
tion of the Army's rations. 

It is close on daybreak, and the customary 
whispered order runs down the stertorous 
trench : — 

' ' Stand to arms ! ' ' 



252 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

Straightway the parapets are lined with 
armed men; the waterproof sheets which 
have been protecting the machine-guns from 
the dews of night are cast off; and we stand 
straining our eyes into the whitening darkness. 

This is the favourite hour for attack. At 
any moment the guns may open fire upon our 
parapet, or a solid wall of grey-clad figures 
rise from that strip of corn-land less than a 
hundred yards away, and descend upon us. 
Well, we are ready for them. Just by way 
of signalising the fact, there goes out a ragged 
volley of rifle fire, and a machine-gun rips 
off half a dozen bursts into the standing 
corn. But apparently there is nothing doing 
this morning. The day grows brighter, but 
there is no movement upon the part of 
Brother Bosche. 

But — what is that light haze hanging over 
the enemy's trenches? It is slight, almost 
impalpable, but it appears to be drifting to- 
wards us. Can it be — — ~1 

Next moment every man is hurriedly pull- 
ing his gas helmet over his head, while Lieu- 
tenant Waddell beats a frenzied tocsin upon 
the instrument provided for the purpose — 
to wit, an empty eighteen-pounder shell, which, 
suspended from a bayonet stuck into the 
parados (or back wall) of the trench, makes 
a most efficient alarm-gong. The sound is 
repeated all along the trench, and in two min- 
utes every man is in his place, cowled like 
a member of the Holy Inquisition, glaring 



THE FEONT OF THE FRONT 253 

throngli an eye-piece of mica, and firing madly 
into the approaching wall of vapour. 

But the wall approaches very slowly — in 
fact, it almost stands still — and finally, as 
the rising snn disentangles itself from a pink 
horizon and climbs into the sky, it begins to 
disappear. In half an hour nothing is left, 
and we take off our helmets, sniffing the morn- 
ing air dubiously. But all we smell is the 
old mixture — corpses and chloride of lime. 

The incident, however, was duly recorded 
by Major Kemp in his report of the day's 
events, as follows : — 

4.7 A.M. — Gas alarm J false. Due either to 
morning mist, or the fact that enemy found 
breeze insufficient, and discontinued their 
attempt, 

** Still, I'm not sure," he continued, slapping 
his bald head with a bandana handkerchief, 
* ^ that a whiff of chlorine or bromine wouldn 't 
do these trenches a considerable amount of 
good. It would tone down some of the de- 
ceased a bit, and wipe out these infernal flies. 
Waddell, if I give you a shilling, will you 
take it over to the German trenches and ask 
them to drop it into the meter?" 

**I do not think, sir," replied the literal 
Waddell, ^Hhat an English shilling would fit 
a German meter. Probably a mark would be 
required, and 'I have only a franc. Besides, 
sir, do you think that " 

* ^ Surgical operation at seven- thirty, sharp ! ' ' 
intimated the major to the medical officer, 



254 THE riEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

•who entered the dug-out at that moment. 
'*For our friend here" — indicating the be- 
wildered Waddell. ^* Sydney Smith's pre- 
scription! Now, what about breakfast T' 

About nine o 'clock the enemy indulges in 
what is usually described, most disrespect- 
fully, as *^a little morning hate" — in other 
words, a bombardment. Beginning with a 
hors d'oeuvre of shrapnel along the reserve 
trench — much to the discomfort of Head- 
quarters, who are shaving — he proceeds to 
** search" a tract of woodland in our im- 
mediate rear, his quarry being a battery of 
motor machine-guns, which has wisely de- 
camped some hours previously. Then, after 
scientifically *^ traversing" our second line, 
which has rashly advertised its position and 
range by cooking its breakfast over a smoky 
fire, he brings the display to a superfluous 
conclusion by dropping six *^ Black Marias" 
into the deserted ruins of a village not far 
behind us. After that comes silence ; and we 
are able, in our hot, baking trenches, assisted 
by clouds of bluebottles, to get on with the 
day's work. 

This consists almost entirely in digging. 
As already stated, these are bad trenches. 
The parapet is none too strong — at one point 
it has been knocked down for three days run- 
ning — the communication trenches are few 
and narrow, and there are not nearly enough 
dug-outs. Yesterday three men were wounded ; 



THE FKONT OF THE FEONT 255 

and owing to the impossibility of carrying a 
stretcher along certain parts of the trench, 
they had to be conveyed to the rear in their 
ground-sheets — bumped against projections, 
bent round sharp corners, and sometimes 
lifted, perforce, bodily into view of the enemy. 
So every man toils with a will, knowing full 
well that in a few hours ' time he may prove to 
have been his own benefactor. Only the sen- 
tries remain at the parapets. They no longer 
expose themselves, as at night, but take ad- 
vantage of the laws of optical reflection, as 
exemplified by the trench periscope. (This, 
in spite of its grand title, is nothing but a tiny 
mirror clipped on to a bayonet.) 

At half -past twelve comes dinner — bully- 
beef, with biscuit and jam — after which each 
tired man, coiling himself up in the trench, 
or crawling underground, according to the 
accommodation at his disposal, drops off into 
instant and heavy slumber. The hours from 
two till five in the afternoon are usually the 
most uneventful of the twenty-four, and are 
therefore devoted to hardly-earned repose. 

But there is to be little peace this after- 
noon. About half-past three, Bobby Little, 
immersed in pleasant dreams — dreams of 
cool shades and dainty companionship — is 
brought suddenly to the surface of thingis by — 

' ^ Whoo-oo-oo-oo-UMP ! " 

— followed by a heavy thud upon the roof 
of his dug-out. Earth and small stones de- 
scend in a shower upon him. 



256 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

*^ Dirty dogs!'^ he comments, looking at his 
watch. Then he puts his head out of the 
dug-out. 

^^Lie close, you men!" he cries. '^There's 
more of this coming. Any casualties'?'* 

The answer to the question is obscured by 
another burst of shrapnel, which explodes a 
few yards short of the parapet, and showers 
bullets and fragments of shell into the trench. 
A third and a fourth follow. Then comes a 
pause. A message is passed down for the 
stretcher-bearers. Things are growing seri- 
ous. Five minutes later Bobby, having des- 
patched his wounded to the dressing-station, 
proceeds with all haste to Captain Blaikie's 
dug-out. 

*^How many, Bobbyf " 

*^Six wounded. Two of them won't last as 
far as the rear, I'm afraid, sir." 

Captain Blaikie looks grave. 

'^Better ring up the Gunners, I think. 
Where are the shells coming from?" 

'^That wood on our left front, I think." 

*^ That's P 27. Telephone orderly, there?" 

A figure appears in the doorway. 

'^Yes, sirr." 

*^Eing up Major Cavanagh, and say that 
H 21 is being shelled from P 27. Eetali- 
ate!" 

<<Yerra good, sirr." 

The telephone orderly disappears, to return 
in five minutes. 

*^ Major Cavanagh 's compliments, sirr, and 



THE FEONT OF THE FRONT 257 

he is coming up himself for tae observe from 
the firing trench." 

*^Good eggV^ observes Captain Blaikie. 
**Now we shall see some shooting, Bobby!'' 

Presently the Gunner major arrives, accom- 
panied by an orderly, who pays out wire as 
he goes. The major adjusts his periscope, 
while the orderly thrusts a metal peg into 
the ground and fits a telephone receiver to 
his head. 

** Number one gun!" chants the major, 
peering into his periscope; * Hhree-five-one- 
no thing — lyddite — fourth charge ! ' ' 

These mystic observations are repeated into 
the telephone by the Cockney orderly, in a 
confidential undertone. 

**Eeport when ready!" continues the 
major. 

*^ Report when ready!" echoes the orderly. 
Then — ^^ Number one gun ready, sir!" 

'^Fire!" 

*^Fire!" Then, politely — '* Number one 
has fired, sir." 

The major stiffens to his periscope, and 
Bobby Little, deeply interested, wonders 
what has become of the report of the gun. 
He forgets that sound does not travel much 
faster than a thousand feet a second, and that 
the guns are a mile and a half back. Pres- 
ently, however, there is a distant boom. 
Almost simultaneously the lyddite shell 
passes overhead with a scream. Bobby, 
having no periscope, cannot see the actual 



358 THE PIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

result of the shot, tlioiigli he tempts Provi- 
dence (and Zacchseus) by peering over the 
top of the parapet. 

*^ Number one, two-nothing minutes more 
right," commands the major. *'Same range 
and charge. ' ' 

Once more the orderly goes through his 
ritual, and presently another shell screams 
overhead. 

Again the major observes the result. 

^ * Eepeat ! " he says. ^ ' Nothing-five seconds 
more right.'' 

This time he is satisfied. 

^* Parallel lines on number one,'' he com- 
mands crisply. ^^One round battery fire — 
twenty seconds!" 

For the last time the order is passed down 
the wire, and the major hands his periscope 
to the ever-grateful Bobby, who has hardly 
got his eyes to the glass when the round of 
battery fire commences. One — two — three 
— four — the avenging shells go shrieking on 
their way, at intervals of twenty seconds. 
There are four muffled thuds, and four great 
columns of earth and debris spring up before 
the wood. Answer comes there none. The 
offending battery has prudently effaced itself. 

^^ Cease fire!" says the major, ^^and regis- 
ter!" Then he turns to Captain Blaikie. 

* ^That'll settle them for a bit," he observes. 
*^By the way, had any more trouble with 
Minnie?" 

**We had Hades from her yesterday," re- 



THE FEONT OF THE FEONT 269 

plies Blaikie, in answer to this extremely 
personal question. * ^ Slie started at a quarter- 
past ^ve in the morning, and went on till 
about ten.'' 

(Perhaps, at this point, it would be as well 
to introduce Minnie a little more formally. 
She is the most unpleasant of her sex, and her 
full name is Minenwerfer, or German trench- 
mortar. She resides, spasmodically, in Unter 
den Linden. Her extreme range is about two 
hundred yards, so she confines her attentions 
to front-line trenches. Her modus operandi 
is to discharge a large cylindrical bomb into 
the air. The bomb, which is about fifteen 
inches long and some eight inches in diam- 
eter, describes a leisurely parabola, perform- 
ing grotesque somersaults on the way, and 
finally falls with a soft thud into the trench, 
or against the parapet. There, after an in- 
terval of ten seconds, Minnie's offspring ex- 
plodes; and as she contains about thirty 
pounds of dynamite, no dug-out or parapet 
can stand against her.) 

**Did she do much damage!" inquires the 
Gunner. 

^^ Killed two men and buried another. They 
were in a dug-out. ' ' 

The Gunner shakes his head. 

*^No good taking cover against Minnie," 
he says. ^^The only way is to come out into 
the open trench, and dodge her." 

^^So we found," replies Blaikie. **But 
they pulled our legs badly the first time. 



260 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

They started off with three * whizz-bangs' " 

— a whizz-bang is a particularly offensive 
form of shell which bursts two or three 
times over, like a Chinese cracker — *^so we 
ail took cover and lay low. The consequence 
was that Minnie was able to send her little 
contribution along unobserved. The filthy 
thing fell short of the trench, and exploded 
just as we were all getting up again. It 
smashed up three or four yards of parapet, 
and scuppered the three poor chaps I men- 
tioned. ' ' 

^^Have you located herT' 

'^Yes. Just behind that stunted willow, on 
our left front. I fancy they bring her along 
there to do her bit, and then trot her back to 
billets, out of harm's way. She is their two 
o 'clock turn — two a.m. and two p.m. " 

* ^ Two o 'clock turn — h 'm ! " says the Gunner 
major meditatively. **What about our chip- 
ping in with a one-fifty-five turn — half a 
dozen H E shells into Minnie's dressing-room 

— eh ? I must think this over. ' ' 

**Do!" said BlaiMe cordially. ** Minnie is 
Willie's Worst Werfer, and the sooner she is 
put out of action the better for all of us. 
To-day, for some reason, she failed to appear, 
but previous to that she has not failed for five 
mornings in succession to batter down the 
same bit of our parapet. ' ' 

*^ Where's that?" asks the major, getting 
out a trench-map. 

P 7 — a most unhealthy spot. Minnie 



a 



THE FEONT OF THE FEONT 261 

pushes it over about two every morning. 
The result is that we have to mount gnard 
over the breach all day. We build every- 
thing up again at night, and Minnie sits 
there as good as gold, and never dreams of 
interfering. You can almost hear her cooing 
over us. Then, as I say, at two o^clock, just 
as the working party comes in and gets under 
cover, she lets slip one of her disgusting 
bombs, and undoes the work of about four 
hours. It was a joke at first, but we are 
getting fed up now. That's the worst of the 
Bosche. He starts by being playful; but if 
not suppressed at once, he gets rough; and 
that, of course, spoils all the harmony of the 
proceedings. So I cordially commend your 
idea of the one-fifty-five turn, sir." 

'^I'll see what can be done," says the major. 
*^I think the best plan would be a couple 
of hours' solid f rightfulness, from every bat- 
tery we can switch on. To-morrow afternoon, 
perhaps, but I'll let you know. You'll have 
to clear out of this bit of trench altogether, 
as we shall shoot pretty low. So long ! ' ' 



m 



It is six o'clock next evening, and peace 
reigns over our trench. This is the hour 
at which one usually shells aeroplanes — or 
rather, at which the Germans shell ours, 
for their own seldom venture out in broad 



262 THE EIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

daylight. But this evening,- although two 
or three are up in the blue, buzzing inquisi- 
tively over the enemy's lines, their attendant 
escort of white shrapnel puffs is entirely 
lacking. Far away behind the German lines 
a house is burning fiercely. 

^^The Hun is a bit ^^iano to-night," observes 
Captain Blaikie, attacking his tea. 

*^The Hun has been rather firmly handled 
this afternoon," replies Captain Wagstaife. 
**I think he has had an eye-opener. There 
are no flies on our Divisional Artillery." 

Bobby Little heaved a contented sigh. For 
two hours that afternoon he had sat, half- 
deafened, while six-inch shells skimmed the 
parapet in both directions, a few feet above 
his head. The Gunner major had been as 
good as his word. Punctually at one-fifty- 
five *^ Minnie's" two o'clock turn had been 
anticipated by a round of high-explosive 
shells directed into her suspected place of 
residence. What the actual result had been 
nobody knew, but Minnie had made no attempt 
to raise her voice since. Thereafter the 
German front-line trenches had been *^ plas- 
tered" from end to end, while the trenches 
farther back were attended to with methodical 
thoroughness. The German guns had replied 
vigorously, but directing only a passing fire 
at the trenches, had devoted their e:fforts 
chiefly to the silencing of the British artil- 
lery. In this enterprise they had been 
remarkably unsuccessful. 



THE FEONT OF THE FEONT 263 

*'Any casnalties?" asked Blaikie. 

*^Noiie here,'' replied Wagstaffe. ^* There 
may be some back in the support trenches." 

' ^ We might telephone and inquire. ' ' 

*'No good at present. The wires are all 
cut to pieces. The signallers are repairing 
them now." 

**7 was nearly a casualty," confessed Bobby 
modestly. 

^^How?" 

**That first shell of ours nearly knocked 
my head off! I was standing up at the 
time, and it rather took me by surprise. It 
just cleared the parados. In fact, it kicked 
a lot of gravel into the back of my neck." 

**Most people get it in the neck here, 
sooner or later," remarked Captain Blaikie 
sententiously. *' Personally, I don't much 
mind being killed, but I do bar being buried 
alive. That is why I dislike Minnie so." 
He rose, and stretched himself. ^'Heigho! 
I suppose it's about time we detailed patrols 
and working parties for to-night. What a 
lovely sky ! A truly peaceful atmosphere — 
what! It gives one a sort of Sunday-evening 
feeling, somehow." 

**May I suggest an explanation?" said 
Wagstaffe. 

*^By all means." 

^^li is Sunday evening ! ' ' 

Captain Blaikie whistled gently, and said — 

*'By Jove, so it is." Then, after a pause: 
**This time last Sunday " 



264 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

Last Sunday had been an off-day — a day 
of cloudless summer beauty. Tired men had 
slept; tidy men had washed their clothes; 
restless men had wandered at ease about 
the countryside, careless of the guns which 
grumbled everlastingly a few miles away. 
There had been impromptu Church Parades 
for each denomination, in the corner of a 
wood which was part of the demesne of 
a shell-torn chateau. 

It is a sadly transformed wood. The open 
space before the chateau, once a smooth 
expanse of tennis-lawn, is now a dusty 
picketing-ground for transport mules, desti- 
tute of a single blade of grass. The 
ornamental lake is full of broken bottles 
and empty jam-tins. The pagoda-like 
summer-house, so inevitable to French 
chateau gardens, is a quartermaster's store. 
Half the trees have been cut down for fuel. 
Still, the July sun streams very pleasantly 
through the remainder, and the Psalms of 
David float up from beneath their shade 
quite as sweetly as they usually do from 
the neighbourhood of the precentor's desk in 
the kirk at home — perhaps sweeter. 

The wood itself is a point d'appui, or 
fortified post. One has to take precautions, 
even two or three miles behind the main 
firing line. A series of trenches zigzags in 
and out among the trees, and barbed wire 
is interlaced with the undergrowth. In the 
farthermost corner lies an improvised 



THE FEONT OF THE FEONT 265 

cemetery. Some of the inscriptions on the 
little wooden crosses are only three days 
old. Merely to read a few of these touches 
the imagination and stirs the blood. Here 
you may see the names of English Tommies 
and Highland Jocks, side by side with their 
Canadian kith and kin. A little apart lie 
more graves, surmounted by epitaphs written 
in strange characters, such as few white men 
can read. These are the Indian troops. 
There they lie, side by side — the mute 
wastage of war, but a living testimony, 
even in their last sleep, to the breadth and 
unity of the British Empire. The great, 
machine-made Empire of Germany can show 
no such graves: when her soldiers die, they 
sleep alone. 

The Church of England service had come 
last of all. Late in the afternoon a youthful 
and red-faced chaplain had arrived on a 
bicycle, to find a party of officers and men 
lying in the shade of a broad oak waiting 
for him. (They were a small party : naturally, 
the great majority of the regiment are what 
the identity-discs call **Pres'' or **E.C.") 

*' Sorry to be late, sir," he said to the 
senior officer, saluting. **This is my sixth 
sh — service to-day, and I have come seven 
miles for it." 

He mopped his brow cheerfully ; and having 
produced innumerable hymn-books from a 
saddle-bag and set his congregation in array, 
read them the service, in a particularly pleas- 



266 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

ing and well-modulated voice. After that lie 
preached a modest and manly little sermon, 
containing references which carried Bobby 
Little, for one, back across the Channel to 
other scenes and other company. After the 
sermon came a hymn, snng with great vigour. 
Tommy loves singing hymns — when he hap- 
pens to know and like the tune. 

**I know you chaps like hymns," said the 
padre, when they had finished. *^ Let's have 
another before you go. What do you wantT' 

A most unlikely-looking person suggested 
* ^ Abide with Me. ' ' When it was over, and the 
party, standing as rigid as their own rifles, had 
sung **God Save the King," the preacher an- 
nounced, awkwardly — almost apologetically — 

*^If any of you would like to — er — com- 
municate, I shall be very glad. May not 
have another opportunity for some time, you 
know. I think over there" — he indicated a 
quiet corner of the wood, not far from the 
little cemetery — ^^ would be a good place." 

He pronounced the benediction, and then, 
after further recurrence to his saddle-bag, 
retired to his improvised sanctuary. Here, 
with a ration-box for altar, and strands of 
barbed wire for choir-stalls, he made his 
simple preparations. 

Half a dozen of the men, and all the officers, 
followed him. That was just a week ago. 

Captain Wags taffe broke the silence at 
last. 



THE FEONT OF THE FEONT 267 

'*It^s a rotten business, war,'* he said pen- 
sively — ^^when you come to think of it. 
Hallo, there goes the first star-shell! Come 
along, Bobby!" 

Dusk had fallen. From the German trenches 
a thin luminous thread stole up into the 
darkening sky, leaned over, drooped, and 
burst into dazzling brilliance over the British 
parapet. Simultaneously a desultory rifle 
fire crackled down the lines. The night ^s 
work had begun. 



XIX 

THE TEIVIAL KOUIS^D 

We have been occupying trenches, off and 
on, for a matter of two months, and have 
settled down to an nnexhilarating but salutary 
routine. Each dawn we * ' stand to arms, ' ' and 
peer morosely over the parapet, watching the 
grey grass turn slowly to green, while snipers' 
bullets buzz over our heads. Each forenoon 
we cleanse our dew-rusted weapons, and build 
up with sandbags what the persevering 
Teuton has thrown down. Each afternoon 
we creep unostentatiously into subterranean 
burrows, while our respective gunners, from a 
safe position in the rear, indulge in what they 
humorously describe as **an artillery duel." 
The humour arises from the fact that they 
fire, not at one another, but at us. It is as 
if two big boys, having declared a vendetta, 
were to assuage their hatred and satisfy their 
honour by going out every afternoon and 
throwing stones at one another 's little brothers. 
Each evening we go on sentry duty; or go 
out with patrols, or working parties, or ration 



THE TEIVIAL EOUND 269 

parties. Our losses in killed and wounded 
are not heavy, but they are regular. We 
would not grudge the lives thus spent if only 
we could advance, even a little. But there is 
nothing doing. Sometimes a trench is rushed 
here, or recaptured there, but the net result is 
— stalemate. 

The campaign upon which we find ourselves 
at present embarked offers few opportunities 
for brilliancy. One wonders how Napoleon 
would have handled it. His favourite device, 
we remember, was to dash rapidly about the 
chessboard, insert himself between two hostile 
armies, and defeat them severally. But how 
can you insert yourself between two armies 
when you are faced by only one army — an 
army stretching from Ostend to the Alps? 

One of the first elements of successful 
strategy is surprise. In the old days, a general 
of genius could outflank his foe by a forced 
march, or lay some ingenious trap or ambush. 
But how can you outflank a foe who has no 
flanks? How can you lay an ambush for the 
modern Intelligence Department, with its 
aeroplane reconnaissance and telephonic ner- 
vous system? Do you mass half a million 
men at a chosen point in the enemy's line? 
Straightway the enemy knows all about it, 
and does likewise. Each morning General 
Headquarters of each side finds upon its 
breakfast-table a concise summary of the 
movements of all hostile troops, the disposi- 
tion of railway rolling-stock — yea, even aero- 



270 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

plane photographs of it all. What could 
Napoleon himself have done under the cir- 
cumstances? One is inclined to suspect that 
that volcanic megalomaniac would have per- 
ished of spontaneous combustion of the brain. 

However, trench life has its alleviations. 
There is The Day's Work, for instance. Each 
of us has his own particular * * stunt, ' ' in which 
he takes that personal and rather egotistical 
pride which only increasing proficiency can 
bestow. 

The happiest — or at least, the busiest — 
people just now are the * ^ Specialists. ' ' If you 
are engaged in ordinary Company work, your 
energies are limited to keeping watch, dodging 
shells, and improving trenches. But if you 
are what is invidiously termed an *^ employed'' 
man, life is full of variety. 

Do you observe that young officer sitting 
on a ration-box at his dug-out door, with his 
head tied up in a bandage? That is Second 
Lieutenant Lochgair, whom I hope to make 
better known to you in time. He is a chief- 
tain of high renown in his own inaccessible 
but extensive fastness; but out here, where 
every man stands on his own legs, and not 
his grandfather's, he is known simply as 
'^Othello." This is due to the fact that 
Major Kemp once likened him to the earnest 
young actor of tradition, who blacked himself 
all over to ensure proficiency in the playing 
of that part. For he is above all things an 



THE TEIVIAL EOUND 371 

enthusiast in his profession. Last night he 
volunteered to go out and *^ listen" for a 
suspected mine some fifty yards from the 
German trenches. He set out as soon as 
darkness fell, taking with him a biscuit-tin 
full of water. A circular from Headquarters 
— one of those circulars which no one but 
Othello would have treated with proper rev- 
erence — had suggested this device. The 
idea was that, since liquids convey sound 
better than air, the listener should place his 
tin of water on the ground, lie down beside 
it, immerse one ear therein, and so draw 
secrets from the earth. Othello failed to 
locate the mine, but kept his head in the 
biscuit-tin long enough to contract a severe 
attack of earache. 

But he is not discouraged. At present he 
is meditating a design for painting himself 
grass-green and climbing a tree — thence to 
take a comprehensive and unobserved survey 
of the enemy's dispositions. He will do it, 
too, if he gets a chance ! 

The machine-gunners, also, contrive \o 
chase monotony by methods of their own. 
Listen to Ayling, concocting his diurnal 
scheme of frightfulness with a colleague. 
Unrolled upon his knee is a large-scale 
map. 

^^I think we might touch up those cross- 
roads to-night,'' he says, laying the point of 
his dividers upon a spot situated some hun- 
dreds of yards in rear of the German trenches. 



272 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

**I expect they'll have lots of transport there 
about ration- time — eh f 

^* Sound scheme/' assents his coadjutor, a 
bloodthirsty stripling named Ainslie. **Got 
the bearings ? ' ' 

^^Hand me that protractor. Seventy-one, 
nineteen, true. That comes to " — Ayling per- 
forms a mental calculation — ** almost exactly 
eighty-five, magnetic. We'll go out about 
nine, with two guns, to the corner of this 
dry ditch here — the range is two thousand 
-Bye hundred, exactly" — 

**Our lightning calculator!" murmurs his 
admiring colleague. **No elastic up the 
sleeve, or anything! All done by simple 
ledger-de-mang f Proceed ! ' ' 

— **And loose off a belt or two. What 
say!" 

^* Application forwarded, and strongly re- 
commended," announced Ainslie. He ex- 
amined the map. ** Cross-roads — eh? That 
means at least one estaminet. One estaminet, 
with Bosches inside, complete! Think of our 
little bullets all popping in through the open 
door, iaye hundred a minute! Think of the 
rush to crawl under the counter! It might 
be a Headquarters? We might get Von 
Kluck or Eupy of Bavaria, splitting a half 
litre together. We shall earn Military Crosses 
over this, my boy," concluded the imaginative 
youth. ' ' Wow, wow ! ' ' 

^^The worst of indirect fire," mused the less 
gifted Ayling, **is that you never can tell 



THE TRIVIAL ROUND 273 

whether you have hit your target or not. 
In fact, you can't even tell whether there was 
a target there to hit." 

*^ Never mind; we'll chance it," replied 
Ainslie. **And if the Bosche artillery sud- 
denly wakes up and begins retaliating on the 
wrong spot with whizz-bangs - — well, we shall 
know we've tickled up somebody, anyhow! 
Mne o 'clock, you say ? " 

Here, again, is a bombing party, prepared 
to steal out under cover of night. They are 
in charge of one Simson, recently promoted 
to Captain, supported by that hoary fire- 
eater. Sergeant Carfrae. The party numbers 
seven all told, the only other member thereof 
with whom we are personally acquainted 
being Lance-Corporal M^Snape, the ex-Boy 
Scout. Every man wears a broad canvas 
belt full of pockets: each pocket contains a 
bomb. 

Simson briefly outlines the situation. Our 
fire-trench here runs round the angle of an 
orchard, which brings it uncomfortably close to 
the Germans. The Germans are quite as un- 
comfortable about the fact as we are — some 
of us are rather inclined to overlook this im- 
portant feature of the case — and they have 
run a sap out towards the nearest point of 
the Orchard Trench (so our aeroplane ob- 
servers report), in order to supervise our 
movements more closely. 

**It may only be a listening-post," explains 



374 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

Simson to his bombers, *^with one or two 
men in it. On the other hand, they may 
be collecting a party to rnsh us. There are 
some big shell-craters there, and they may 
be using one of them as a saphead. Any- 
how, our orders are to go out to-night and 
see. If we find the sap, with any Germans 
in it, we are to bomb them out of it, and 
break up the sap as far as possible. Advance, 
and follow me. ' ' 

The party steals out. The night is very 
still, and a young and inexperienced moon is 
making a somewhat premature appearance 
behind the Bosche trenches. The ground is 
covered with weedy grass — disappointed hay 
— which makes silent progress a fairly simple 
matter. The bombers move forward in ex- 
tended order searching for the saphead. Sim- 
son, in the centre, pauses occasionally to 
listen, and his well-drilled line pauses with 
Mm. Sergeant Carfrae calls stertorously 
upon the left. Out on the right is young 
M^ Snape, tingling. 

They are half-way across now, and the 
moon is marking time behind a cloud. 

Suddenly there steals to the ears of 
M^ Snape — apparently from the recesses of 
the earth just in front of him — a deep, hollow 
sound, the sound of men talking in some 
cavernous space. He stops dead, and signals 
to his companions to do likewise. Then he 
listens again. Yes, he can distinctly hear 
guttural voices, and an occasional clink, clink. 



THE TEIVIAL EOUND 275 

The sapliead has been reached, and digging 
operations are in progress. 

A whispered order comes down the line 
that M'Snape is to * investigate. ' ' He 
wriggles forward until his progress is arrested 
by a stunted bnsh. Very stealthily he rises 
to his knees and peers over. As he does so, 
a chance star-shell bursts squarely over him, 
and comes sizzling officiously down almost on 
to his back. His head drops like a stone into 
the bush, but not before the ghostly mag- 
nesium flare has shown him what he came 
out to see — a deep shell-crater. The crater 
is full of Germans. They look like grey 
beetles in a trap, and are busy with pick 
and shovel, apparently * improving'' the 
crater and connecting it with their own fire- 
trenches. They have no sentry out. Dormitat 
Homerus. 

W Snape worms his way back, and reports. 
Then, in accordance with an oft-rehearsed 
scheme, the bombing party forms itself into 
an arc of a circle at a radius of some twenty 
yards from the stunted bush. (Not the least 
of the arts of bomb-throwing is to keep out 
of range of your own bombs.) Every man^s 
hand steals to his pocketed belt. Next 
moment Simson flings the first bomb. It 
flies fairly into the middle of the crater. 

Half a dozen more go swirling after it. 
There is a shattering roar ; a cloud of smoke ; 
a muffled rush of feet; silence; some groans. 
Almost simultaneously the German trenches 



S76 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

are in an uproar. A dozen star-shells leap 
to the sky; there is a hnrried outburst of 
rifle fire; a machine-gun begins to patter 
out a stuttering malediction. 

Meanwhile our friends, who have exhibited 
no pedantic anxiety to remain and behold the 
result of their labours, are lying upon their 
stomachs in a convenient fold in the ground, 
waiting patiently until such time as it 
shall be feasible to complete their homeward 
journey. 

Half an hour later they do so, and roll 
one by one over the parapet into the trench. 
Casualties are slight. Private Nimmo has a 
bullet-wound in the calf of his leg; and 
Sergeant Carfrae, whom Nature does not 
permit to lie as flat as the others, will 
require some repairs to the pleats of his 
kilt. 

*^A11 present?" inquires Simson. 

It is discovered that M^Snape has not re- 
turned. Anxious eyes peer over the parapet. 
The moon is stronger now, but it is barely 
possible to distinguish objects clearly for 
more than a few yards. 

A star-shell bursts, and heads sink below 
the parapet. A German bullet passes over- 
head, with a sound exactly like the crack of 
a whip. Silence and comparative darkness 
return. The heads go up again. 

**I'll give him five minutes more, and 
then go and look for him," says Simson. 
^^Hallo!" 



THE TEIYIAL ROUND 277 

A small busli, growing just outside the 
barbed wire, rises suddenly to its feet; and, 
picking its way with incredible skill through 
the nearest opening, runs at full speed for 
the parapet. Next moment it tumbles over 
into the trench. 

Willing hands extracted M^Snape from his 
arboreal envelope — he could probably have 
got home quite well without it, but once a 
Boy Scout, always a Boy Scout — and he 
made his report. 

*^I went back to have a look-see into the 
crater, sirr.'' 

^'Welir' 

*^It^s fair blown in, sirr, and a good piece 
of the sap too. I tried could I find a prisoner 
to bring in" — our Colonel has promised a 
reward of fifty francs to the man who can 
round up a whole live Bosche — *^but there 
were nane. They had got their wounded 
away, I doubt. ' ' 

^^ Never mind," says Simson. '^Sergeant, 
see these men get some sleep now. Stand-to 
at two-thirty, as usual. I must go and pitch 
in a report, and I shall say you all did 
splendidly. Good-night ! ' ' 

This morning, the official Intelligence Sum- 
mary of our Division — published daily and 
known to the unregenerate as '^ Comic Cuts" 
— announced, with solemn relish, among other 
items of news : — 

Last night a small party homhed a sus- 



278 THE FIEST HUKDEED THOUSAND 

pected saphead at — here followed the exact 
bearings of the crater on the large-scale 
map. Loud groans were heard, so it is 
probable that the bombs took effect. 

For the moment, life has nothing more to 
offer to our seven friends. 



n 



As already noted, our enthusiasm for our 
own sphere of activity is not always shared 
by our colleagues. For instance, we in the 
trenches frequently find the artillery of both 
sides unduly obtrusive ; and we are of opinion 
that in trench warfare artillery practice should 
be limited by mutual consent to twelve rounds 
per gun per day, fired by the gunners at 
the gunners. ^^ Except, of course, when the 
Big Push comes." The Big Push is seldom 
absent from our thoughts in these days. 

*^That," observed Captain Wagstaffe to 
Bobby Little, *^ would leave us foot-sloggers 
to settle our own differences. My opinion 
is that we should do so with much greater 
satisfaction to ourselves if we weren't con- 
stantly interfered with by coal-boxes and 
Black Marias.'' 

*^ Still, you can't blame them for loosing off 
their big guns," contended the fair-minded 
Bobby. *^It must be great sport." 

**They tell me it's a greatly overrated 
amusement," replied Wagstaffe — *^like post- 



THE TEIVIAL ROUND 279 

ing an insulting letter to some one yon dis- 
like. You see, you aren't there when he 
opens it at breakfast next morning! The 
only man of them who gets any fun is the 
Forward Observing Officer. And he," con- 
cluded Wagstaffe in an unusual vein of 
pessimism, '^does not live long enough to 
enjoy it!'' 

The grievances of the Infantry, however, 
are not limited to those supplied by the 
Eoyal Artillery. There are the machine- 
guns and the trench-mortars. 

The machine-gunner is a more or less 
accepted nuisance by this time. He has 
his own emplacements in the line, but he 
never appears to use them. Instead, he 
adopts the peculiar expedient of removing 
his weapon from a snug and well-fortified 
position, and either taking it away some- 
where behind the trenches and firing salvoes 
over your head (which is reprehensible), or 
planting it upon the parapet in your par- 
ticular preserve, and firing it from there 
(which is criminal). Machine-gun fire always 
provokes retaliation. 

*^Why in thunder can't you keep your 
.filthy tea-kettle in its own place, instead 
of bringing it here to draw firef" inquired 
Mr. Cockerell, not altogether unreasonably, 
as Ayling and his satellites passed along 
the trench bearing the offending weapon, 
with water-jacket aboil, back to its official 
residence. 



280 THE PIKST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

**It is all for your good, my little man," 
explained Ay ling loftily. **It would never 
do to give away one's real gun positions. 
If we did, tlie Bosches would sit tight and 
say nothing at the time, but just make a 
note of the occurrence. Then, one fine 
morning, when they really meant business, 
they would begin by droping a Black Maria 
on top of each emplacement; and where 
would you and your platoon be then, with 
an attack coming on and ^^5 out of action? 
So long!" 

But the most unpopular man in the 
trenches is undoubtedly the Trench Mortar 
Officer. His apparatus consists of what 
looks like a section of rain-pipe, standing 
on legs. Upon its upturned muzzle is poised 
a bomb, having the appearance of a plum- 
pudding on a stick. This he discharges 
over the parapet into the German trenches, 
where it causes a comforting explosion. He 
then walks rapidly away. 

For obvious reasons, it is not advisable 
to fire a trench-mortar too often — at any 
rate from the same place. But the whole 
weight of public opinion in our trench is 
directed against it being fired from anywhere 
at all. Behold the Trench Mortar Officer 
and his gang of pariahs creeping stealthily 
along in the lee of the parados, just as dawn 
breaks, in the section of trench occupied by 
No. 10 Platoon. For the moment they are 
unheeded, for the platoon are ^ * standing-to, " 



THE TEIYIAL EOUND 281" 

and the men are lined along tlie firing-step, 
with their backs to the conspirators. 

On reaching a snitable spot, the mortar 
party proceed to erect their apparatus with 
as little ostentation as possible. But they 
are soon discovered. The platoon subaltern 
hurries up. 

*^ Awfully sorry, old man," he says breath- 
lessly, *^but the CO. gave particular orders 
that this part of the trench was on no ac- 
count to be used for trench-mortar fire. You 
see, we are only about seventy yards from 
the Bosche trenches here " 

''I know," explains the T.M.O.; **that is 
why I came." 

'^But it is most important," continues the 
platoon commander, still quoting glibly from 
an entirely imaginary mandate of the CO., 
*Hhat no retaliatory shell fire should be 
attracted here. Most serious for the whole 
Brigade, if this bit of parapet got pushed 
over. Now, there's a topping place about 
ten traverses away. You can lob them over 
from there beautifully. Come along." 

And with fair words and honeyed phrases 
he elbows the dispirited band to a position 
— for his platoon — of comparative inoffen- 
siveness. 

The Trench Mortar Officer drifts on, and 
presently, with the uneasy assurance of the 
proprietor of a punch-and-judy show who 
has inadvertently strayed into Park Lane, 
attempts once more to give his unpopular 



282 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

entertainment. This time Ms shrift is even 
shorter, for he encounters Major Kemp — 
never at his sunniest in the small hours of 
the morning. 

Field officers have no need to employ the 
language of diplomacy when dealing with 
subalterns. 

'^No, you don't J my lad!'' announces the 
Major. *'Not if I can help it ! Take it away! 
Take your darned liver-pill out of this ! Burn 
it ! Bury it ! Eat it ! But not here ! Creep 
away ! ' ' 

The abashed procession complies. This 
time they find a section of trench in charge 
of a mere corporal. Here, before any one of 
sufficient standing can be summoned to deal 
with the situation, the Trench Mortar Officer 
seizes his opportunity, and discharges three 
bombs over the parapet. He then retires 
defiantly to his dug-out. 

But it is an Ishmaelitish existence. 



in 



So much for the alleviations which pro- 
fessional enthusiasm bestows. Now for a 
few alleviations proper. These are Sleep, 
Food, and Literature. 

Sleep is the rarest of these. We seldom 
get more than a few hours at a time; but 
it is astonishing how readily one learns to 
slumber in unlikely surroundings — upon 



THE TRIVIAL EOUND 283 

damp earth, in cramped positions, amid 
ceaseless noise, in clothes and boots that have 
not been removed for days. One also acquires 
the priceless faculty of losing no time in drop- 
ping oif . 

As for food, we grumble at times, just as 
people at home are grumbling at the Savoy, 
or Lockhart's. It is the Briton's habit so to 
do. But in moments of repletion we are fain 
to confess that the organisation of our com- 
missariat is wonderful. Of course the quality 
of the menu varies, according to the immunity 
of the communication- trenches from shell fire, 
or the benevolence of the Quartermaster and 
the mysterious powers behind him, or the 
facilities for cooking offered by the time and 
place in which we find ourselves. No large 
fires are permitted: the smoke would give 
too good a ranging-mark to Minnie and her 
relatives. Still, it is surprising how quickly 
you can boil a canteen over a few chips. 
There is also, for those who can afford 
half-a-crown, that invaluable contrivance, 
*^ Tommy's Cooker''; and occasionally we get 
a ration of coke. When times are bad, we 
live on bully, biscuit, cheese, and water, 
strongly impregnated with chloride of lime. 
The water is conveyed to us in petrol-tins — 
the old familiar friends, Shell and Pratt — 
hundreds of them. Motorists at home must 
be feeling the shortage. In normal times 
we can reckon on plenty of hot, strong tea; 
possibly some bread; probably an allowance 



284 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

of bacon and jam. And sometimes, when the 
ration parties arrive, mud-stained and weary, 
in the dead of night, and throw down their 
bursting sacks, our eyes feast upon such rev- 
elations as tinned butter, condensed milk, 
raisins, and a consignment of that great chief- 
tain of the ration race. The Maconochie of 
Maconochie. On these occasions Private 
Mucklewame collects his share, retires to his 
kennel, and has a gala-day. 

Thirdly, the blessings of literature. Our 
letters arrive at night, with the rations. The 
mail of our battalion alone amounts to eight 
or ten mail-bags a day; from which you may 
gather some faint idea of the labours of our 
Field Post Offices. There are letters, and 
parcels, and newspapers. Letters we may 
pass over. They are featureless things, ex- 
cept to their recipient. Parcels have more 
individuality. Ours are of all shapes and 
sizes, and most of them are astonishingly 
badly tied. It is quite heartrending to be- 
hold a kilted exile endeavouring to gather up 
a heterogeneous mess of socks, cigarettes, 
chocolate, soap, shortbread, and Edinburgh 
rock, from the ruins of what was once a flabby 
and unstable parcel, but is now a few skimpy 
rags of brown paper, which have long escaped 
the control of a most inadequate piece of 
string — a monument of maternal lavishness 
and feminine economy. 

Then there are the newspapers. We read 
them right through, beginning at the adver- 



THE TEIVIAL EOUND 285 

tisements and not skipping even the leading 
articles. Then, when we have finished, we 
frequently read them right through jagain. 
They serve three purposes. They give us 
information as to how the War is progressing 
— we get none here, the rank and file, that 
is ; they serve to pass the time ; and they 
afford us topics for conversation. For in- 
stance, they enable us to follow and discuss 
the trend of home politics. And in this con- 
nection, I think it is time you were introduced 
to Captain Achille Petitpois. (That is not 
his real name, but it is as near to it as most 
of us are likely to get.) He is one of that 
most efficient body, the French liaison officers, 
who act as connecting-link between the Allied 
Forces, and naturally is an accomplished lin- 
guist. He is an ardent admirer of British 
institutions, but is occasionally not a little 
puzzled by their complexity. So he very 
sensibly comes to people like Captain Wag- 
staffe for enlightenment, and they enlighten 
him. 

Behold Achille — a guest in A Company's 
billet — drinking whisky-and-sparklet out of 
an aluminium mug, and discussing the news 
of the day. 

*^And your people at home," he said, ''you 
think they are taking the War seriously f 
(Achille is addicted to reading the English 
newspapers without discrimination.) 

*'So seriously,'' replied Wagstaffe in- 
stantly, ''that it has become necessary for 



286 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

the Government to take steps to cheer 
them up." 

'^ Comment r' inquired Achille politely. 

For answer Wagstaffe picked up a three- 
day-old London newspaper, and read alond 
an extract from the Parliamentary report. 
The report dealt faithfully with the latest 
antics of the troupe of eccentric comedians 
which appears (to us), since the formation of 
the Coalition Government, to have taken pos- 
session of the front Opposition Bench. 

** Who are these assassins — these imbeciles' 
— these cretins/' inquired Petitpois, **who 
would endanger the ship of the State?" 
(Achille prides himself upon his knowledge 
of English idiom.) 

** Nobody knows!" replied Wagstaffe sol- 
emnly. *^They are children of mystery. Be- 
fore the War, nobody had ever heard of them. 
They " 

**But they should be shot!" explained that 
free-born Eepublican, Petitpois. 

**Not a bit, old son! That is where you 
fail to grasp the subtleties of British states- 
manship. I tell you there are no flies on our 
Cabinet!" 

^^Flies?" 

**Yes: mouckes, you know. The agility of 
our Cabinet Ministers is such that these little 
insects find it impossible to alight upon 
them. ' ' 

*^ Your Ministers are athletes — yes," agreed 
Achille comprehendingly. *^But the- " 



THE TRIVIAL ROUND 287 

"Only intellectually. What I mean is 
that they are a very downy collection of old 
gentlemen — " 

Achille, murmuring something hazy about 
** Downing Street," nodded his head. 

** — And when they came into power, they 
knew as well as anything that after three 
weeks or so the country would begin to 
grouse " 

"Grouse? A sporting bird?" interpolated 
Achille. 

"Exactly. They knew that the country 
would soon start giving them the bird^ " 

' ' What bird ? The grouse ? ' ' 

' ' Oh, dry up, Wagger ! ' ' interposed Blaikie. 
"He means, Petitpois, that the Government, 
knowing that the electorate would begin to 
grow impatient if the War did not imme- 
diately take a favourable turn " 

Achille smiled. 



a 



I see now," he said. "Proceed, Ouag- 
staff e, my old ! ' ' 

"In other words," continued the officer so 
addressed, "the Government decided that if 
they gave the Opposition half a chance to get 
together, and find leaders, and consolidate 
their new trenches, they might turn them 
out." 

"Bien," assented Achille. Every one was 
listening now, for Wagstaffe as a politician 
usually had something original to say. 

"Well," proceeded Wagstaffe, "they saw 
that the great thing to do was to prevent 



288 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

the Opposition from making an impression 
on the country — from being taken too seri- 
ously, in fact. So what did they do? They 
said: * Let's arrange for a comic Opposition 
— an Opposition pour rire, you know. They 
will make the country either laugh or cry. 
Anyhow, the country will be much too busy 
deciding which to do to have any time to 
worry about us; so we shall have a splendid 
chance to get on with the War.' So they 
sent down the Strand — that's where the 
Variety agents foregather, I believe — what 
you call entrepreneurs, Achille — and booked 
this troupe, complete, for the run of the 
War. They did the thing in style; spared 
no expense; and got a comic newspaper 
proprietor to write the troupe up, and 
themselves down. The scheme worked beau- 
tifully — what you would call a succes fou, 
Achille." 

**I am desolated, my good Ouagstaffe," 
observed Petitpois after a pregnant silence; 
^^but I cannot believe all you say." 

**I may be wrong," admitted Wagstaife 
handsomely, '^but that's my reading of the 
situation. At any rate, Achille, you will ad- 
mit that my theory squares with the known 
facts of the case. " 

Petitpois bowed politely. 

*^ Perhaps it is I who am wrong, my dear 
Ouagger. There is such a difference of point 
of view between your politics and ours. ' ' 

The deep voice of Captain Blaikie broke in. 



THE TRIVIAL EOUND 289 

"If Lancashire, ' ^ he said grimly, "were 
occupied by a German army, as the Lille dis- 
trict is to-day, I fancy there would be a con- 
siderable levelling up of political points of 
view all round. No limelight for a comic op- 
position then, Achille, old son!" 



IV 



Besides receiving letters, we write them. 
And this brings us to that mysterious and 
impalpable despot, the Censor. 

There is not much mystery about him 
really. Like a good many other highly 
placed individuals, he deputes as much of 
his work as possible to some one else — in 
this case that long-suffering maid-of-all-work, 
the company officer. Let us track Bobby 
Little to his dug-out, during one of those 
numerous periods of enforced retirement 
which occur between the hours of three and 
six, "Pip Emma'' — as our friends the "buz- 
zers" call the afternoon. On the floor of this 
retreat (which looks like a dog-kennel and 
smells like a vault) he finds a small heap 
of letters, deposited there for purposes of 
what the platoon-sergeant calls "censure." 
These have to be read (which is bad) ; licked 
up (which is far worse) ; signed on the out- 
side by the officer, and forwarded to Head- 
quarters. Here they are stamped with the 
familiar red triangle and forwarded to the 



390 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

Base, where they are supposed' to be scrutin- 
ised by the real Censor — i.e., the gentleman 
who is paid for the job — and are finally 
despatched to their destination. 

Bobby, drawing his legs well inside the 
kennel, out of the way of stray shrapnel bul- 
lets, begins his task. 

The heap resolves itself into three parts. 
First come the post-cards, which give no 
trouble, as their secrets are written plain 
for all to see. There are half a dozen or 
so of the British Army official issue, which 
are designed for the benefit of those who 
lack the epistolatory gift — what would a 
woman say if you offered such things to her? 
— and bear upon the back the following 
printed statements: — 

I am quite well. 

I have been admitted to hospital. 

I am sick ) i and am going on well. 

wounded j ( and hope to he discharged soon, 
I have received your i letter, dated . . . 
-j telegram, '^ 
I parcel, " 
Letter follows at first opportunity. 
I have received no letter from you J lately. 

\ for a long time. 

(The gentleman who designed this post- 
card must have been a descendant of Sydney 
Smith. You remember that great man's 
criticism of the Books of Euclid? He pre- 
ferred the Second Book, on the ground that 
it was more * impassioned'^ than the others!) 



THE TRIVIAL EOUND 291 

All the sender of this impassioned missive 
has to do is to delete such clauses as strike 
him as untruthful or over-demonstrative, and 
sign his name. He is not allowed to add 
any comments of his own. On this occasion, 
however, one indignant gentleman has pen- 
cilled the ironical phrase, **I don't think!'' 
opposite the line which acknowledges the re- 
ceipt of a parcel. Bobby lays this aside, to 
be returned to the sender. 

Then come some French picture post-cards. 
Most of these present soldiers — soldiers 
posing, soldiers exchanging international 
handgrips, soldiers grouped round a massive 
and decoUetee lady in flowing robes, and 
declaring that La patrie sera libre! Un- 
derneath this last. Private Ogg has written: 
*^Dear Lizzie, — I hope this finds you well 
as it leaves me so. I send you a French 
p.c. The writing means long live the Queen 
of France." 

The next heap consists of letters in official- 
looking green envelopes. These are already 
sealed up, and the sender has signed the 
following attestation, printed on the flap : I 
certify on my honour that the contents of this 
envelope refer to nothing but private and 
family matters. Setting aside a rather bulky 
epistle addressed to The Editor of a popular 
London weekly, which advertises a circulation 
of over a million copies — a singularly unsuit- 
able recipient for correspondence of a private 
and family nature — Bobby turns to the third 



292 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

heap, and sets to work upon Ms daily task 
of detecting items of information, ^' which if 
intercepted or published might prove of value 
to the enemy." 

It is not a pleasant task to pry into another 
person's correspondence, bnt Bobby's scruples 
are considerably abated by the consciousness 
that on this occasion he is doing so with the 
writer's full knowledge. Consequently it is 
a clear case of caveat scriptor. Not that 
Bobby's flock show any embarrassment at 
the prospect of his scrutiny. Most of them 
write with the utmost frankness, whether 
they are conducting a love affair, or are in- 
volved in a domestic broil of the most per- 
sonal nature. In fact, they seem rather to 
enjoy having an official audience. Others 
cheerfully avail themselves of this oppor- 
tunity of conveying advice or reproof to those 
above them, by means of what the Eoyal 
Artillery call ^ indirect fire." Private Dun- 
shie remarks: **We have been getting no pay 
these three weeks, but I doubt the officer will 
know what has become of the money." It 
is the firm conviction of every private sol- 
dier in **K(1)" that all fines and deductions 
go straight into the pocket of the officer who 
levies them. Private Hogg, always an opti- 
mist, opines: ^^The officers should know bet- 
ter how to treat us now, for they all get a 
read of our letters." 

But, as recorded above, the outstanding 
feature of this correspondence is an engaging 



THE TRIVIAL ROUND 293 

frankness. For instance, Private Cosh, who 
under an undemonstrative, not to say wooden, 
exterior evidently conceals a heart as inflam- 
mable as flannelette, is conducting single- 
handed no less than four parallel love affairs. 
One lady resides in his native Coatbridge, the 
second is in service in South Kensington, the 
third serves in a shop in Kelvinside, and the 
fourth moth appears to have been attracted 
to this most unlikely candle during our so- 
journ in winter billets in Hampshire. Cosh 
writes to them all most ardently every week 
— sometimes oftener — and Bobby Little, as 
he ploughs wearily through repeated demands 
for photographs, and touching protestations 
of lifelong affection^ curses the verbose and 
susceptible youth with all his heart. 

But this mail brings him a gleam of 
comfort. 

So you tell me, Chrissie, writes Cosh to the 
lady in South Kensington, that you are en- 
gaged to be married on a milkman, , . . 

(*^ Thank heaven!" murmurs Bobby 
piously.) 

NOf no J CJirissie, you need not trouble your- 
self. It is nothing to me, 

(^^He's as sick as muck!" comments 
Bobby.) 

All I did before was in friendship's name. 

(^^Liarl") 

Bobby, thankfully realising that his daily 
labours will be materially lightened by the 
withdrawal of the fickle Chrissie from the 



394 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

postal arena, ploughs steadily through the 
letters. Most of them begin in accordance 
with some approved formula, such as — 

It is with the greatest of pleasure that I 
take up my pen 

It is invariably a pencil, and a blunt one at 
that. 

Crosses are ubiquitous, and the flap of the 
envelope usually bears the mystic formula, 
S.W.A.K. This apparently means ^* Sealed 
with a kiss," which, considering that the 
sealing is done not by the writer but by 
the Censor, seems to take a good deal for 
granted. 

Most of the letters acknowledge the receipt 
of a ^^parcle"; many give a guarded summary 
of the military situation. 

We are not allowed to tell you about the 
War, hut I may say that we are now in the 
trenches. We are all in the pinlc, and not 
many of the hoys has gotten a dose of lead- 
poisoning yet. 

It is a pity that the names of places have 
to be left blank. Otherwise we should get 
some fine phonetic spelling. Our pronun- 
ciation is founded on no pedantic rules. Ar- 
mentieres is Armentears, Busnes is Business, 
Bailleul is Booloo, and Vieille Chapelle is 
Veal Chapel. 

The chief difficulty of the writers appears 
to be to round off their letters gracefully. 
Having no more to say, I will now draw to 
a close, is the accepted formula. Private 



THE TEIVIAL EOUND 295 

Burke, never a tactician, concludes a most 
ardent love-letter thus: ^^ Welly Kate, I will 
now close, as I have to write to another of 
the girls," 

But to Private Mucklewame literary com- 
position presents no difficulties. Here is a 
single example of his terse and masterly 
style : — 

Dere wife, if you could make the next postal 
order a trifle stronger, I might get getting an 
egg to my tea, — Yotir loving husband, Jas. 
Mucklewame, No, 74077. 

But there are features of this multifarious 
correspondence over which one has no inclina- 
tion to smile. There are wistful references to 
old days; tender inquiries after bairns and 
weans; assurances to anxious wives and 
mothers that the dangers of modern warfare 
are merely nominal. There is an almost 
entire absence of boasting or lying, and 
very little complaining. There is a general 
and obvious desire to allay anxiety. We 
are all **fine"; we are all *4n the pink." 
* * This is a grand life. ' ' 

Listen to Lance-Corporal M^Snape: Well, 
mother, I got your parcel, and the things was 
most welcome; hut you must not send any 
more, I seen a shilling stamp on the parcel: 
that is too much for you to afford. How 
many officers take the trouble to examine the 
stamp on their parcels 1 

And there is a wealth of homely sentiment 
and honest affection which holds up its head 



296 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

without shame even in the presence of the 
Censor. One rather pathetic screed, begin- 
ning: Well, wife, I doubt this tvill he a poor 
letter, for I canna get one of they green en- 
velopes to-day, hut I'll try my best — Bobby 
Little sealed and signed without further 
scrutiny. 



One more picture, to close the record of 
our trivial round. 

It is a dark, moist, and most unpleasant 
dawn. Captain Blaikie stands leaning against 
a traverse in the fire-trench, superintending 
the return of a party from picket duty. 
They file in, sleepy and dishevelled, through 
an archway in the parapet, on their way to 
dug-outs and repose. The last man in the 
procession is Bobby Little, who has been in 
charge all night. 

Our line here makes a sharp bend round 
the corner of an orchard, and for security's 
sake a second trench has been cut behind, 
making, as it were, the cross-bar of a capital 
A. The apex of the A is no health resort. 
Brother Bosche, as already explained, is only 
fifty yards away, and his trench-mortars make 
excellent practice with the parapet. So the 
Orchard Trench is only occupied at night, 
and the alternative route, which is well con- 
structed and comparatively safe, is used by 



THE TRIVIAL ROUND 297 

all careful persons who desire to proceed from 
one arm of the A to the other. 

The present party are the night picket, 
thankfully relinquishing their vigil round the 
apex. 

Bobby Little remained to bid his company- 
commander good-morning at the junction of 
the two trenches. 

* ^ Any casualties ? ' ' An invariable question 
at this spot. 

**No, sir. We were lucky. There was a 
lot of sniping." 

*^It's a rum profession," mused Captain 
Blaikie, who was in a wakeful mood. 

**In what way, sir?" inquired the sleepy 
but respectful Bobby. 

^* Well "—-Captain Blaikie began to fill his 
pipe — ^*who takes about nine-tenths of the 
risk, and does practically all the hard work 
in the Army? The private and the sub- 
altern — you and your picket, in fact. Now, 
here is the problem which has puzzled me 
ever since I joined the Army, and IVe had 
nineteen years' service. The farther away 
you remove the British soldier from the risk 
of personal injury, the higher you pay him. 
Out here, a private of the line gets about 
a shilling a day. For that he digs, saps, 
marches, and fights like a hero. The motor- 
transport driver gets six shillings a day, no 
danger, and lives like a fighting cock. The 
Army Service Corps drive about in motors, 
pinch our rations, and draw princely incomes. 



298 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAIv^D 

Staff Officers are compensated for tlieir com- 
parative security by extra cash, and first chop 
at the war medals. Now — why 1 ' ' 

^^I dare say they would sooner be here, 
in the trenches, with us,'' was Bobby's char- 
acteristic reply. 

Blaikie lit his pipe — it was almost broad 
daylight now — and considered. 

*'Yes," he agreed — ** perhaps. Still, my 
son, I can't say I have ever noticed Staff 
Officers crowding into the trenches (as they 
have a perfect right to do) at four o'clock 
in the morning. And I can't say I altogether 
blame them. In fact, if ever I do meet one 
performing such a feat, I shall say: ^ There 
goes a sahib — and a soldier ! ' and I shall take 
off my hat to him. ' ' 

^^Well, get ready now," said Bobby. 
^^Look!" 

They were still standing at the trench 
junction. Two figures, in the uniform of the 
Staff, were visible in Orchard Trench, work- 
ing their way down from the apex — pick- 
ing their steps amid the tumbled sandbags, 
and stooping low to avoid gaps in the ruined 
parapet. The sun was just rising behind 
the German trenches. One of the officers 
was burly and middle-aged; he did not ap- 
pear to enjoy bending double. His com- 
panion was slight, fair-haired, and looked 
incredibly young. Once or twice he glanced 
over his shoulder, and smiled encouragingly 
at his senior. 



THE TEIVIAL EOUND 399 

The pair emerged through the archway into 
the main trench, and straightened their backs 
with obvious relief. The younger officer — he 
was a lieutenant — noticed Captain BlaiMe, 
saluted him gravely, and turned to follow his 
companion. 

Captain Blaikie did not take his hat off, 
as he had promised. Instead, he stood sud- 
denly to attention, and saluted in return, 
keeping his hand uplifted until the slim, 
childish figure had disappeared round the 
corner of a traverse. 

It was the Prince of Wales. 



THE GATHEEING OF THE EAGLES 

When this war is over, and the glory and the 
praise are duly assigned, particularly honour- 
able mention should be made of the inhabit- 
ants of a certain ancient French town with a 
Scottish name, which lies not far behind a 
particularly sultry stretch of the trenches. 
The town is subject to shell fire, as splintered 
walls and shattered windows testify; yet 
every shop stands open. The town, moreover, 
is the only considerable place in the district, 
and enjoys a monopoly of patronage from all 
the surrounding billeting areas; yet the 
keepers of the shops have heroically refrained 
from putting up their prices to any appreci- 
able extent. This combination of courage and 
fair-dealing has had its reward. The town 
has become a local Mecca. British soldiers 
with an afternoon to spare and a few francs 
to spend come in from miles around. Mess 
presidents send in their mess-sergeants, and 
fearful and wonderful is the marketing which 
ensues. 



THE GATHERING OF THE EAGLES 301 

In remote and rural billets catering is a 
simple matter. We take what we can get, 
and leave it at that. The following business- 
card, which Bobby Little once found attached 
to an outhouse door in one of his billets, puts 
the resources of a French hamlet into a nut- 
shell : — 

H^RE 

SMOKING ROM 

BEER 

COFFfi 

EGS 

But in town the shopper has a wider range. 
Behold Sergeant Goffin, a true-born Londoner, 
with the Londoner's faculty of never being at 
a loss for a word, at the grocer's, purchasing 
comforts for our ofi&cers ' mess. 

**Bong jooer, Mrs. Pankhurst!" he observes 
breezily to the plump epiciere. This is his 
invariable greeting to French ladies who dis- 
play any tendency to volubility — -and they 
are many. 

*'Bon jour, M'sieu le Caporal!" replies the 
Spicier e J smiling. * * M 'sieu le Caporal desire ? ' ' 

The sergeant allows his reduction in rank 
to pass unnoticed. He does not understand 
the French tongue, though he speaks it with 
great fluency and incredible success. He 
holds up a warning hand. 

**Now, keep your 'and off the tap of the 
gas-meter for one minute if you please," he 



302 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

rejoins, ''and let me get a word in edgeways. 
I want" — with great emphasis — *'vinblank 
one, vinrooge two, bogeys six, Dom one. 
Compree ? ' ' 

By some miracle the smiling lady does 
''compree," and produces white wine, red 
wine, candles, and — a bottle of Benedictine 1 
(Sergeant Goffin always names wines after 
the most boldly printed word upon the label. 
He once handed round some champagne, which 
he insisted on calling "a bottle of brute.") 

"Combine?" is the next observation. 

The epiciere utters the series of short sharp 
sibilants of which all French numerals appear 
to be composed. It sounds like "song-song- 
song." The resourceful Goffin lays down a 
twenty-franc note. 

"Take it out of that," he says grandly. 

He receives his change, and counts it with 
a great air of wisdom. The epiciere breaks 
into a rapid recital — it sounds rather like our 
curate at home getting to work on When the 
wiched man — of the beauty and succulence of 
her other wares. Up goes Goffin 's hand 
again. 

"Na pooh!" he exclaims. "Bong jooer!" 
And he stumps out to the mess-cart. 

"Na pooh!" is a mysterious but invaluable 
expression. Possibly it is derived from "II 
n'y a plus." It means, "All over!" You 
say "Na pooh!" when you push your plate 
away after dinner. It also means, "Not 
likely!" or "Nothing doing!" By a further 



THE GATHERING OF THE EAGLES 303 

development it has come to mean *Mone for," 
** finished/' and in extreme cases, **dead.'' 
**Poor Bill got na-poohed by a rifle-grenade 
yesterday, ' ' says one mourner to another. 

The Oxford Dictionary of the English 
Language will have to be revised and en- 
larged when this war is over. 

Meanwhile, a few doors away, si host of 
officers is sitting in the Cafe de la Terre. 
Cafes are as plentiful as blackberries in this, 
as in most other French provincial towns, 
and they are usually filled to overflowing 
with privates of the British Army heroically 
drinking beer upon which they know it is 
impossible to get intoxicated. But the pro- 
prietor of the Cafe de la Terre is a long- 
headed citizen. By the simple expedient of 
labelling his premises ^^ Officers Only," and 
making a minimum charge of one franc per 
drink, he has at a single stroke ensured the 
presence of the elite and increased his profits 
tenfold. 

Many arms of the Service are grouped 
round the little marble-topped tables, for the 
district is stiff with British troops, and prom- 
ises to grow stiffer. In fact, so persistently 
are the eagles gathering together upon this, 
the edge of the fighting line, that rumour is 
busier than ever. The Big Push holds re- 
doubled sway in our thoughts. The First 
Hundred Thousand are well represented, for 
the whole Scottish Division is in the neighbour- 



304 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

hood. Beside the glengarries there are count- 
less flat caps — line regiments, territorials, 
gunners, and sappers. The Army Service 
Corps is there in force, recruiting exhausted 
nature from the strain of dashing about the , 
country-side in motor-cars. The R.A.M.C. is 
strongly represented, doubtless to test the pur- 
ity of the refreshment provided. Even the 
Staff has torn itself away from its arduous 
duties for the moment, as sundry red tabs 
testify. In one corner sit four stout French 
civilians, playing a mysterious card-game. 

At the very next table we find ourselves 
among friends. Here are Major Kemp, also 
Captain Blaikie. They are accompanied by 
Ayling, Bobby Little, and Mr. Waddell. The 
battalion came out of trenches yesterday, 
and for the first time found itself in urban 
billets. For the moment haylofts and wash- 
houses are things of the dim past. "We are 
living in real houses, sleeping in real beds, 
some with sheets. 

To this group enters unexpectedly Captain 
Wagstaffe. 

** Hallo, Wagger!" says Blaikie. *^Back 
already?'' 

*^Your surmise is correct," replies Wag- 
staff e, who has been home on leave. **I got 
a wire yesterday at lunch-time — in the Savoy, 
of all places! Every one on leave has been 
recalled. We were packed like herrings on 
the boat. Gargon, Mere — the brunette kind ! ' ' 

**Tell us all about London," says Ayling 



THE GATHERING OP THE EAGLES 305 
hungrily. ''What does it look like? Tell 

We have been out here for the best part 
of five months now. Leave opened a fort- 
night ago, amid acclamations — only to be 
closed again within a few days. Wagstaffe 
was one of the lucky few who slipped through 
the blessed portals. He now sips his beer 
and delivers his report. 

''London is much as usual, A bit rattled 
over Zeppelins — they have turned out even 
more street lamps — but nothing to signify. 
Country districts crawling with troops. All 
the officers appear to be colonels. Promotion 
at home is more rapid than out here. Chin, 
chin ! ' ' Wagstaff e buries his face in his glass 
mug. 

"What is the general attitude," asked Mr. 
Waddell, "towards the war?" 

"Well, one's own friends are down in the 
dumps. Of course it's only natural, because 
most of them are in mourning. Our losses 
are much more noticeable at home than 
abroad, somehow. People seemed quite sur- 
prised when I told them that things out here 
are as right as rain, and that our troops are 
simply tumbling over one another, and that 
we don't require any comic M.P.'s sent out 
to cheer us up. The fact is, some people 
read the papers too much. At the present 
moment the London press is, not to put too . 
fine a point on it, making a holy show of 
itself. I suppose there's some low-down 



306 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

political rig at the back of it all, but the whole 
business must be perfect jam for the Bosches 
in Berlin/' 

''What's the trouble?" inquired Major 
Kemp. 

''Conscription, mostly. (Though why they 
should worry their little heads about it, I 
don't know. If K. wants it we'll have it: 
if not, we won't; so that's that!) Both sides 
are trying to drag the great British Public 
into the scrap by the back of the neck. The 
Conscription crowd, with whom one would 
naturally side if they would play the game, 
seem to be out to unseat the Government 
as a preliminary. They support their argu- 
ments by stating that the British Army on the 
"Western front is reduced to a few platoons, 
and that they are allowed to fire one shell 
per day. At least, that's what I gathered." 

"What do the other side say?" inquired 
Kemp. 

"Oh, theirs is a very simple line of argu- 
ment. They state, quite simply, that if the 
personal liberty of Britain's workers — that 
doesn't mean you and me, as you might 
think : we are the Overbearing Militarist Oli- 
garchy : a worker is a man who goes on strike, 
■ — they say that if the personal liberty of 
these sacred perishers is interfered with by 
the Overbearing Militarist Oligarchy afore- 
said, there will be a Eevolution. That's all! 
Oh, they're a sweet lot, the British newspaper 
bosses!" 



THE GATHEEING OP THE EAGLES 307 

^^But what," inquired that earnest seeker 
after knowledge, Mr. Waddell, *4s the general 
attitude of the country at large upon this 
grave question?" 

Captain Wagstaffe chuckled. 

^*The dear old country at large," he re- 
plied, *4s its dear old self, as usual. It is not 
worrying one jot about Conscription, or us, 
or anything like that. The one topic of con- 
versation at present is — Charlie Chaplin." 

*^Who is Charlie Chaplin?" inquired sev- 
eral voices. 

Wagstaffe shook his head. 

* ^ I haven 't the faintest idea, ' ' he said. * * All 
I know is that you can't go anywhere in 
London without running up against him. He 
is It. The mention of his name in a revue 
is greeted with thunders of applause. At one 
place I went to, twenty young men came upon 
the stage at once, all got up as Charlie 
Chaplin. ' ' 

^^Butwhoi^he?" 

**That I can't tell you. I made several 
attempts to find out; but whenever I asked 
the question people simply stared at me in 
amazement. I felt quite ashamed: it was 
plain that I ought to have known. I have a 
vague idea that he is some tremendous new 
boss whom the Government have appointed 
to make shells, or something. Anyhow, the 
great British Nation is far too much en- 
grossed with Charles to worry about a little 
thing like Conscription. Still, I should like 



308 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

to know. I feel I have been rather unpatriotic 
about it all." 

'*I can tell you,'' said Bobby Little. '*My 
servant is a great admirer of bis. He is the 
latest cinema star. Falls off roofs, and gets 
run over by motors " 

**And keeps the police at bay with a fire- 
hose," added Wagstaffe. ** That's him! I 
know the type. Thank you, Bobby ! ' ' 

Major Kemp put down his glass with a 
gentle sigh, and rose to go. 

**We are a great nation," he remarked con- 
tentedly. **I was a bit anxious about things 
at home, but I see now there was nothing to 
worry about. We shall win all right. Well, 
I am off to the Mess. See you later, every- 
body!" 

*^ Meanwhile," inquired Wagstaffe, as the 
party settled down again, ^*what is brewing 
here? I haven't seen the adjutant yet." 

'^You'll see him soon enough," replied 
Blaikie grimly. He glanced over his shoulder 
towards the four civilian card-players. They 
looked bourgeois enough and patriotic enough, 
but it is wise to take no risks in a cafe, as a 
printed notice upon the war, signed by the 
Provost-Marshal, was careful to point out. 
^^Come for a stroll," he said. 

Presently the two captains found them- 
selves in a shady boulevard leading to the 
outskirts of the town. Darkness was falling, 
and soon would be intense; for lights are 
taboo in the neighbourhood of the firing line. 



THE GATHEEING OF THE EAGLES 309 

*^Have we finished that new trench in front 
of our wireT' asked Wagstaife. 

**Yes. It is the best thing we have done 
yet. Divisional Headquarters are rightly 
pleased about it. ' ' 

Blaikie gave details. The order had gone 
forth that a new trench was to be con- 
structed in front of our present line — a 
hundred yards in front. Accordingly, when 
night fell, two hundred unconcerned heroes 
went forth, under their subalterns, and, 
squatting down in line along a white tape 
(laid earlier in the evening by our imper- 
turbable friends. Lieutenants Box and Cox, 
of the Eoyal Engineers), proceeded to dig 
the trench. Thirty yards ahead of them, 
facing the curious eyes of countless Bosches, 
lay a covering party in extended order, 
ready to repel a rush. Hour by hour the 
work went on — skilfully, silently. On these 
occasions it is impossible to say what will 
happen. The enemy knows we are there: 
he can see us quite plainly. But he has 
his own night-work to do, and if he inter- 
feres with us he knows that our machine- 
guns will interfere with him. So, provided 
that our labours are conducted in a manner 
which is neither ostentatious nor contemp- 
tuous^ — that is to say, provided we do not 
talk, whistle, or smoke — he leaves us more 
or less alone. 

But this particular task was not accom- 
plished without loss: it was too obviously 



310 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

important. Several times tlie German ma- 
chine-guns sputtered into flame, and each 
time the stretcher-bearers were called upon 
to do their duty. Yet the work went on to 
its accomplishment, without question, without 
slackening. The men were nearly all ex- 
perts : they had handled pick and shovel from 
boyhood. Soldiers of the line would have 
worked quite as hard, maybe, but they would 
have taken twice as long. But these dour 
sons of Scotland worked like giants — ^trained 
giants. In four nights the trench, with 
traverses and approaches, was complete. The 
men who had made it fell back to their dug- 
outs, and shortly afterwards to their billets — 
there to spend the few odd francs which their 
separation allotments had left them, upon 
extremely hard-earned glasses of extremely 
small beer. 

At home, several thousand patriotic Welsh- 
men, fellows of the same craft, were uphold- 
ing the dignity of Labour, and the reputation 
of the British Nation, by going out on strike 
for a further increase of pay — an increase 
which they knew a helpless Government would 
grant them. It was one of the strangest con- 
trasts that the world has ever seen. But the 
explanation thereof, as piroffered by Private 
Mucklewame, was quite simple and eminently 
sound. 

**A11 the decent lads," he observed briefly, 
*'are oot here." 



THE GATHEEING OF THE EAGLES 311 

*^Good work!'' said Wagstaffe, when 
Blaikie's tale was told. ^^Wliat is the new 
trench for, exactly?'' 

Blaikie told him. 

**Tell me more!" urged Wagstaffe, deeply 
interested. 

Blaikie's statement cannot be set down 
here, though the substance of it may be com- 
mon property to-day. When he had finished 
Wagsta:ffe whistled softly. 

*'And it's to be the day after to-morrow!" 
he said. 

*'Yes, if all goes well." 

It was quite dark now. The horizon was 
brilliantly lit by the flashes of big guns, and 
a continuous roar came throbbing through the 
soft autumn darkness. 

'*If this thing goes with a click, as it ought 
to do," said Wagstaffe, *4t will be the biggest 
thing that ever happened — bigger even than 
Charlie Chaplin." 

**Yes — if!'' assented the cautious Blaikie. 

'*It's a tremendous opportunity for our 
section of *K(1),' " continued Wagstaffe. 
**We shall have a chance of making history 
over this, old man." 

* ' Whatever we make — history or a bloomer 
— we'll do our level best," replied Blaikie. 
*^At least, I hope *A' Company will." 

Then suddenly his reserved, undemonstra- 
tive Scottish tongue found utterance. 

* ^ Scotland for Ever ! " he cried softly. 



XXI 

THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 

*^ Half-past two, and a cold morning, sir.'' 

Thus Bobby Little's servant, rousing his 
employer from uneasy slumber under the open 
sky, in a newly-constructed trench running 
parallel to and in rear of the permanent 
trench line. 

Bobby sat up, and peering at his luminous 
wrist-watch, morosely acquiesced in his men- 
ial's gruesome statement. But he cheered 
up at the next intimation. 

** Breakfast is ready, sir." 

Tea and bacon are always tea and bacon, 
even in the gross darkness and mental ten- 
sion which precede a Big Push. Presently 
various humped figures in greatcoats, having 
gathered in the open ditch which did duty 
for Officers' Mess, broke into spasmodic con- 
versation — conversation rendered even more 
spasmodic by the almost ceaseless roar of 
guns. There were guns all round us — rank 
upon rank: to judge by the noise, you would 
have said tier upon tier as well. Half a mile 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 313 

ahead, upon the face of a gentle slope, a 
sequence of flames would spout from the 
ground, and a storm of shells go whistling 
on their way. No sooner had this happened 
than there would come a shattering roar 
from the ground beneath our feet, and a 
heavy battery, concealed in a hedge fifty 
yards to our front, would launch its contri- 
bution. Farther back lay heavier batteries 
still, and beyond that batteries so powerful 
and so distant that one heard the shell pass 
before the report arrived. One of these 
monsters, coming apparently from infinity 
and bound for the back of beyond, lumbered 
wearily over the heads of *^A" Company, 
partaking of breakfast. 

Private Mucklewame paused in the act of 
raising his canteen to his lips. 

^* There's WuUie awa' for a walk!" he 
observed. 

Considering that they were upon the eve of 
an epoch-making combat, the regiment were 
disappointingly placid. 

In the Officers' Mess the prevailing note 
was neither lust of battle nor fear of death: 
it was merely that ordinary snappishness 
which is induced by early rising and uncom- 
fortable surroundings. 

^^It's going to rain, too," grumbled Major 
Kemp. 

At this moment the Colonel arrived, with 
final instructions from the Brigadier. 

*^We move off at a quarter to four," he 



314 THE FIEST HUNDKED THOUSAND 

said, *^up Fountain Alley and Scottish 
Trench, into Central Boyau'' — ^^boyan'^ is 
the name which is given to a commnnication- 
trench in trenches which, like those in front 
of us, are of French extraction — *^and so 
over the parapet. There we extend, as ar- 
ranged, into lines of half-companies, and go 
at 'em, making Douvrin our objective, and 
keeping the Hohenzollern and Fosse Eight 
upon our left." 

Fosse Eight is a mighty waste-heap, such 
as you may behold anywhere along the 
railway in the colliery districts between 
Glasgow and Edinburgh. The official map 
calls such an eminence a Fosse; the Eoyal 
Engineers call it a Dump; Operation Orders 
call it a Slag-Heap; experts like Ogg and 
Hogg (who ought to know if any one does) 
call it a Bing. Prom this distance, two miles 
away, the Fosse looks as big as North Ber- 
wick Law. It is one of the many scattered 
about this district, all carefully numbered 
by the Ordnance. There are others, again, 
towards Hulluch and Loos. Number Eight 
has been the object of pressing attentions 
on the part of our big guns ever since 
the bombardment began, three weeks ago ; 
but it still stands up — gaunt, grim, and 
defiant — against the eastern sky. Whether 
any one is left alive upon it, or in it, is 
another question. We shall have cause to 
remember Fosse Eight before this fight is 
over. 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 315 

Tlie Hohenzollern Redoubt, on tlie other 
hand, is a most inconspicuons object, but a 
very important factor in the present situation. 
It has been thrust forward from the Bosche 
lines to within a hundred yards of our own — 
a great promontory, a maze of trenches, 
machine-gun emplacements, and barbed wire, 
all flush with or under the ground, and ter- 
ribly difficult to cripple by shell fire. It has 
been a source of great exasperation to us — 
a starting-point for saps, mines, and bomb- 
ing parties. As already stated, this mighty 
fortress has been christened by its construc- 
tors, the Hohenzollern. It is attached to 
its parent trench-line by two communicating 
trenches, which the British Army, not to be 
outdone in reverence to the most august of 
dynasties, have named Big and Little Willie 
respectively. 

A struggling dawn breaks, bringing with 
it promise of rain, and the regiment begins 
to marshal in the trench called Fountain 
Alley, along which it is to wind, snake-like, 
in the wake of the preceding troops, until 
it debouches over the parapet, a full mile 
away, and extends into line. 

Presently the order is given to move ofP, 
and the snake begins to writhe. Progress 
is steady, but not exhilarating. We have 
several battalions of the Division in front of 
us (which Bobby Little resents as a personal 
affront), but have been assured that we shall 
see all the fighting we want. The situation 



316 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

appears to be that owing to the terrific ar- 
tillery bombardment the attacking force will 
meet with little or no opposition in the Ger- 
man front-line trenches; or second line, for 
that matter. 

^^The whole Division," explains Captain 
Wagstaffe to Bobby Little, ^^shonld be able to 
get up into some sort of formation about the 
Bosche third line before any real fighting be- 
gins ; so it does not very much matter whether 
we start first or fiftieth in the procession." 

Captain Wagstaffe showed himself an ac- 
curate prophet. 

We move on. At one point we pass through 
a howitzer battery, where dishevelled gentle- 
men give us a friendly wave of the hand. 
Others, not professionally engaged for the 
moment, sit unconcernedly in the ditch with 
their backs to the proceedings, frying bacon. 
This is their busy hour. 

Presently the pace grows even slower, and 
finally we stop altogether. Another batta- 
lion has cut in ahead of us, and we must per- 
force wait, snapping our fingers with im- 
patience, like theatre-goers in a Piccadilly 
block, whose taxis have been held up by the 
traffic debouching from Berkeley Street. 

^* Luckily the curtain doesn't rise till five- 
fifty," observes Captain Wagstaife. 

We move on again at last, and find our- 
selves in Central Boyau, getting near the 
heart of things. Suddenly we are conscious 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 317 

of an overpowering sense of relief. Our guns 
have ceased firing. For the first time for 
three days and nights there is peace. 

Captain Wagstaffe looks at his watch. 

*^That means that our first line are going 
over the parapet," he says. *^ Punctual, too! 
The gunners have stopped to put up their 
sights and lengthen their fuses. We ought 
to be fairly in it in half an hour. ' ' 

But this proves to be an under-estimate. 
There are mysterious and maddening stop- 
pages—maddening, because in communica- 
tion-trench stoppages it is quite impossible to 
find out what is the matter. Furious messages 
begin to arrive from the rear. The original 
form of inquiry was probably something like 
this: *^ Major Kemp would like to know the 
cause of the delay." As transmitted sono- 
rously from mouth to mouth by the rank and 
file it finally arrives (if it ever arrives at all) 
in some such words as: **Pass doon; what 
for is this (asterisk, obelus) wait?" But as 
no answer is ever passed back it does not much 
matter. 

The righteous indignation of Major Kemp, 
who is situated somewhere about the middle 
of the procession, reaches its culminating 
point when, with much struggling and push- 
ing and hopeless jamming, a stretcher carry- 
ing a wounded man is borne down the crowded 
trench on its way to the rear. The Major 
delivers himself. 

* * This is perfectly monstrous ! You stretcher- 



318 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

bearers will kill that poor chap if yon try to 
drag him down here. There is a specially 
constrncted road to the dressing-station over 
there — Bart 's Alley, it is called. We cannot 
have np-and-down traffic jnmbled together 
like this. For heaven's sake, Waddell, pass 
np word to the CO. that it is mistaken kind- 
ness to allow these fellows down here. He 
must send them back. ' ' 

Waddell volunteers to climb out of the 
trench and go forward with a message. Bnt 
this the Major will not allow. **Your platoon 
will require a leader presently," he mentions. 
**We'll try the effect of a note.'^ 

The note is passed up, and anon an answer 
comes back to the effect that no wounded have 
been allowed down from the head of the 
column. They must be getting in by a side- 
track somewhere. The Major groans, but can 
do nothing. 

Presently there is a fresh block. 

* ' What is it this time I ' ' inquires the afflicted 
Kemp. **More wounded, or are we being 
photographed?" 

The answer races joyously down the line — 
^^Gairman prisoners, sirr — seeventy of 
them ! ' ' 

This time the Major acts with promptness 
and decision. 

** Prisoners'? No, they don't! Pass up 
word from me that the whole boiling are to 
be hoisted on to the parapet, with their es- 
cort, and made to walk above ground." 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 319 

Tlie order goes forward. Presently our 
hearts are rejoiced by an exhilarating sight. 
Across the field through which our trench 
winds comes a body of men, running rapidly, 
encouraged to further fleetness of foot by 
desultory shrapnel and stray bullets. They 
wear grey-green uniform, and flat, mufifin- 
shaped caps. They have no arms or equip- 
ment: some are slightly wounded. In front 
of this contingent, running even more rapidly, 
are their escort — some dozen brawny High- 
landers, armed to the teeth. But the pris- 
oners exhibit no desire to take advantage 
of this unusual order of things. Their one 
ambition in life appears to be to put as large 
a space as possible between themselves and 
their late comrades-in-arms, and, if possible, 
overtake their captors. 

Some of them find time to grin, and wave 
their hands to us. One addresses the scan- 
dalised M^Slattery as *^Kamarad!" ^^No 
more dis war for me!" cries another, with 
unfeigned satisfaction. 

After this our progress is more rapid. As 
we near the front line, the enemy ^s shrapnel 
reaps its harvest even in our deep trench. 
More than once we pass a wounded man, 
hoisted on to the parapet to wait for first-aid. 
More than once we step over some poor fellow 
for whom no first-aid will avail. 

Five minutes later we reach the parapet — 
that immovable rampart over which we have 
peeped so often and so cautiously with our 



320 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

periscopes — and clamber up a sandbag stair- 
case on to the summit. We note that our 
barbed wire has all been cut away, and that 
another battalion, already extended into line, 
is advancing fifty yards ahead of us. Bul- 
lets are pinging through the air, but the 
guns are once more silent. Possibly they 
are altering their position. Dotted about 
upon the flat ground before us lie many 
Mlted figures, strangely still, in uncomfort- 
able attitudes. 

A mile or so upon our right we can see two 
towers — pit-head towers — standing side by 
side. They mark the village of Loos, where 
another Scottish Division is leading the at- 
tack. To the right of Loos again, for miles 
and miles and miles, we know that wave upon 
wave of impetuous French soldiers is break- 
ing in a tempest over the shattered German 
trenches. Indeed, we conjecture that down 
there, upon our right, is where the Biggest 
Push of all is taking place. Our duty is to 
get forward if we can, but before everything 
to engage as many German troops and guns 
as possible. Even if we fight for a week 
or more, and only hold our own, we shall 
have done the greater part of what was 
required of us. But we hope to do more 
than that. 

Upon our left lies the Hohenzollern. It 
is silent; so we know that it has been cap- 
tured. Beyond that, upon our left front, 
looms Fosse Eight, still surmounted by its 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 3S1 

battered shaft-tower. EigM ahead, peeping 
over a low ridge, is a church steeple, with 
a clock-face in it. That is our objective. 

Next moment we have deployed into ex- 
tended order, and step out, to play our little 
part in the great Battle of the Slag-Heaps. 



n 



Twenty-four hours later, a little group of 
officers sat in a roomy dug-out. Major Kemp 
was there, with his head upon the plank 
table, fast asleep. Bobby Little, who had 
neither eaten nor slept since the previous 
dawn, was nibbling chocolate, and shaking 
as if with ague. He had gone through a 
good deal. Waddell sat opposite to him, 
stolidly devouring bully-beef out of a tin 
with his fingers. Ayling reclined upon the 
floor, mechanically adjusting a machine-gun 
lock, which he had taken from his haver- 
sack. Captain Wagstaffe was making cocoa 
over a Tommy's Cooker. He looked less the 
worse for wear than the others, but could 
hardly have been described as spruce in 
appearance. The whole party were splashed 
with mud and soaked to the skin, for it had 
rained hard during the greater part of the 
night. They were all sick for want of food 
and sleep. Moreover, all had seen unusual 
sights. It was Sunday morning. 

Presently Wagstaffe completed his culinary 



322 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

arrangements, and poured out tlie cocoa into 
some aluminium cups. He touched Major 
Kemp on the shoulder. 

**Have some of this, Major," he said. 

The burly Kemp roused himself and took 
the proffered cup gratefully. Then, looking 
round, he said — 

*^ Hallo, AylingI You arrived? Where- 
abouts in the line were youf 

'^I got cut off from the Battalion in the 
advance up Central Boyau, sir," said Ayling. 
** Everybody had disappeared by the time 
I got the machine-guns over the parapet. 
However, knowing the objective, I pushed 
on towards the Church Tower." 

^^How did you enjoy yourself passing Fosse 
Eight?" inquired Captain Wagstaife. 

*' Thank you, we got a dose of our own 
medicine — machine-gun fire, in enfilade. It 
was beastly. ' ' 

**We also noticed it," Wagstaffe intimated. 
^*That was where poor Sinclair got knocked 
out. What did you do ? " 

**I signalled to the men to lie flat for a 
bit, and I did the same. I did not know 
that it was possible for a human being to 
lie as flat as I lay during that quarter of 
an hour. But it was no good. The guns 
must have been high up on the Fosse: they 
had excellent command. The bullets simply 
greased all round us. I could feel them 
combing out my hair, and digging into the 
ground underneath me. ' ' 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 323 



yy 



**Wliat were your sensations, exactly? 
asked Kemp. 

**I felt just as if an invisible person were 
tickling me/' replied Ayling, with feeling. 

*■ ^ So did I, ' ' said Kemp. * ^ Go on. " 

**I heard one of my men cry out that 
he was hit," continued Ayling, *'and I came 
to the conclusion that we would have a 
better chance as moving targets than as 
fixed; so I passed the word to get up and 
move forward steadily, in single file. Ulti- 
mately we struck a stray communication- 
trench, into which we descended with as 
much dignity as possible. It led us into 
some quarries." 

' ' Off our line altogether. ' ^ 

*^So I learned from two Companies of an 
English regiment which were there, acting 
as reserve to a Brigade which was scrapping 
somewhere in the direction of Hulluch; so I 
realised that we had worked too far to the 
right. We moved out of the quarries and 
struck over half -left, and ultimately found 
the Battalion, a very long way ahead, in what 
I took to be a Bosche third-line trench, fac- 
ing east." 

*^ Eight! Fosse Alley," said Kemp. **You 
remember it on the map?" 

*^Yes, I do now," said Ayling. **Well, 
I planted myself on the right flank of the 
Battalion with two guns, and sent Sergeant 
Killick along with the other two to the left. 
You know the rest. ' ' 



324 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

*^I'm not sure tliat I do/' said the Major. 
*^We were packed so tight in that blooming 
trench that it was quite impossible to move 
about, and I only saw what was going on 
close around me. Did you get much machine- 
gun practice ? ' ' 

**A fair amount, sir," replied Ayling, with 
professional satisfaction. ^* There was a lot 
of firing from our right front, so I combed 
out all the bushes and house-fronts I could 
see; and presently the firing died down, but 
not before I had had one gun put out of 
action with a bullet through the barrel-cas- 
ing. After dark things were fairly quiet, 
except for constant alarms, until the order 
came to move back to the next trench. ' ' 

Major Kemp's fist came down upon the 
plank table. 

' ' Move back ! " he exclaimed angrily. * ' Just 
so! To capture Fosse Alley, hold it all day 
and half the night, and then be compelled 
to move back, simply because we had pushed 
so far ahead of any other Division that we 
had no support on either flank ! It was tough 
— rotten — hellish! Excuse my exuberance. 
You all right, WagstafPe?" 

*^ Wonderful, considering," replied Wag- 
staff e. *^I was mildly gassed by a lachry- 
mous shell about two o'clock this morning, 
but nothing to signify." 

*^Did your respirator work?" 

*^I found that in the heat of the moment I 
had mislaid it. " 

^^Whatdidyoudo?" 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 325 

**I climbed on to the parapet and sat there. 
It seemed the healthiest spot under the cir- 
cumstance : anyhow, the air was pure. When 
I recovered I got down. What happened 
to *A,' Bobby? I heard rumours, but 
hoped " 

He hesitated. 

*^Go on," he said abruptly; and Bobby, 
more composed now, told his tale. 

**A" Company, it appeared, had found 
themselves clinging grimly to the section of 
Fosse Alley which they had captured, with 
their left flank entirely in the air. Presently 
came an order. Further forward still, half- 
right, another isolated trench was being held 
by a portion of the Highland Brigade. These 
were suffering cruelly, for the German artil- 
lery had the range to a nicety, and convenient 
sapheads gave the German bombers easy ac- 
cess to their flanks. It is more than likely that 
this very trench had been constructed ex- 
pressly for the inveiglement of a too success- 
ful attacking party. Certainly no troops 
could live in it for long. **A" Company were 
to go forward and support. 

Captain Blaikie, passing word to his men to 
be ready, turned to Bobby. 

^^I'm a morose, dour, monosyllabic Scot, 
Bobbie," he said; *^but this sort of thing 
bucks me up." 

Next moment he was over the parapet and 
away, followed by his Company. In that 
long, steadily-advancing line were many of 
our friends. Mucklewame was there, panting 



326 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

heavily, and cannily commending Ms sonl to 
Providence. Messrs. Ogg and Hogg were 
there, shoulder to shoulder. M^ Ostrich, the 
Ulster visionary, was there, six paces ahead 
of any other man, crooning some Ironside 
canticle to himself. Next behind him came 
the reformed revolutionary, M^Slattery. 

Straightway the enemy observed the on- 
coming reinforcements, and shrapnel began to 
fly. The men pressed on, at a steady double 
now. M* Ostrich was the first to go down. 
Game to the last, he waved encouragement to 
his mates with a failing arm as they passed 
over his body. 

* ' Come along, boys ! ' ' cried Captain Blailde, 
suddenly eloquent. ** There is the trench! 
The other lads are waiting for you. Come 
along ! Charge ! ' ' 

The men needed no further bidding. They 
came on — with a ragged cheer — and as- 
suredly would have arrived, but for one thing. 
Suddenly they faltered, and stopped dead. 

Captain Blaikie turned to his faithful sub- 
altern panting behind him. 

^ ^ We are done in, Bobby, ' ' he said. ' ' Look ! 
Wire!'' 

He was right. This particular trench, it 
was true, was occupied by our friends ; but it 
had been constructed in the first instance for 
the use of our enemies. Consequently it was 
wired, and heavily wired, upon the side facing 
the British advance. 

Captain Blaikie, directing operations with 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 327 

a walking-stick as if the whole affair were an 
Aldershot field-day, signalled to the Company 
to lie down, and began to unbutton a leather 
pouch in his belt. 

*'You too, Bobby," he said; **and don't dare 
to move a muscle until you get the order ! ' ' 

He strolled forward, pliers in hand, and 
began methodically to cut a passage, strand 
by strand, through the forest of wire. 

Then it was that invisible machine-guns 
opened, and a very gallant officer and Scots- 
man fell dead upon the field of honour. 

Half an hour later, *'A" Company, having 
expended all their ammunition and gained 
never a yard, fell back upon the rest of the 
Battalion, Including Bobby Little (who 
seemed to bear a charmed life), they did not 
represent the strength of a platoon. 

*^I wonder what they will do with us next," 
remarked Mr. Waddell, who had finished his 
bully. 

**If they have any sense of decency," said 
Major Kemp, **they will send us back to rest 
a bit, and put another Division in. We have 
opened the ball and done a lot of dirty work 
for them, and have lost a lot of men and offi- 
cers. Bed for me, please ! ' ' 

*^I should be more inclined to agree with 
you. Major," said Wagstaffe, **if only we had 
a bit more to show for our losses." 

** We haven't done so badly," replied Kemp, 



328 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

who was growing more cheerful under the 
influence of hot cocoa. *^We have got the 
Hohenzollern, and the Bosche first line at 
least, and probably Fosse Eight. On the 
right I hear we have taken Loos. That's not 
so dnsty for a start. I have not the slight- 
est doubt that there will be a heavy counter- 
attack, which we shall repel. After that we 
shall attack again, and gain more ground, or 
at least keep the Bosche exceedingly busy 
holding on. That is our allotted task in this 
entertainment — to go on hammering the Hun, 
occupying his attention and using up his re- 
serves, regardless of whether we gain ground 
or lose it, while our French pals on the right 
are pushing him off the map. At least, that 
is my theory: I don't pretend to be in touch 
with the official mind. This battle will prob- 
ably go on for a week or more, over practi- 
cally the same ground. It will be dreadful for 
the wounded, but even if we only hold on to 
what we have gained already, we are the 
winners. Still, I wish we could have con- 
solidated Fosse Alley before going to bed." 

At. this moment the Colonel, stooping low 
in the tiny doorway, entered the dug-out, 
followed by the Adjutant. He bade His sup- 
porters good-morning. 

'^I am glad to find that you fellows have 
been able to give your men a meal,'' he said. 
**It was capital work getting the ration-carts 
up so far last night." 

**Any news, Colonel?" asked Major Kemp. 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 329 

''Most decidedly. It seems that the enemy 
have evacuated Fosse Alley again. Nobody 
quite knows why: a sudden attack of cold 
feet, probably. Our people command their 
position from Fosse Eight, on their left rear, 
so I don't altogether blame them. Whoever 
holds Fosse Eight holds Fosse Alley. How- 
ever, the long and short of it all is that the 
Brigade are to go forward again this evening, 
and reoccupy Fosse Alley. Meanwhile, we 
consolidate things here." 

Major Kemp sighed. 

''Bed indefinitely postponed!'' he remarked 
resignedly. 



in 



By midnight on the same Sunday the Bat- 
talion, now far under its original strength, 
had re-entered the scene of yesterday's long 
struggle, filing thither under the stars, by a 
deserted and ghostly German hoyau nearly 
ten feet deep. Fosse Alley erred in the op- 
posite direction. It was not much more than 
four feet in depth ; the chalky parapet could 
by no stretch of imagination be described 
as bullet-proof ; dug-outs and communication- 
trenches were non-existent. On our left the 
trench-line was continued by the troops of 
another Division: on our right lay another 
battalion of our own brigade. 

* ' If the line has been made really continuous 



330 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

this time," observed the Colonel, '*we should 
be as safe as houses. Wonderful fellows, these 
sappers ! They have wired almost our whole 
front already. I wish they had had time to 
do it on our left as well. ' ' 

Within the next few hours all defensive 
preparations possible in the time had been 
completed; and our attendant angels, most 
effectively disguised as Eoyal Engineers, had 
flitted away, leaving us to wait for Monday 
morning — and Brother Bosche. 

With the dawn, our eyes, which had known 
no sleep since Friday night, peered rheumily 
out over the whitening landscape. 

To our front the ground stretched smooth 
and level for two hundred yards, then fell 
gently away, leaving a clearly defined skyline. 
Beyond the skyline rose houses, of which 
we could descry only the roofs and upper 
windows. 

*^That must be either Haisnes or Douvrin," 
said Major Kemp. **We are much farther to 
the left than we were yesterday. By the way, 
was it yesterday!" 

*^The day before yesterday, sir," the ever- 
ready Waddell informed him. 

'^ Never mind; to-day's the day, anyhow. 
And it 's going to be a busy day, too. The fact 
is, we are in a tight place, and all through 
doing too well. We have again penetrated so 
much farther forward than any one else in our 
neighbourhood that we may have to fall back 
a bit. But I hope not. We have a big stake, 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 331' 

WaddeU. If we can liold on to this position 
until the others make good upon our right and 
left, we shall have reclaimed a clear two miles 
of the soil of France, my son." The Major 
swept the horizon with his glasses. *^Let me 
see; that is probably Hulluch away on our 
right front: the Loos towers must be in line 
with us on our extreme right, but we can't see 
them for those hillocks. There is our old 
friend Fosse Eight towering over us on our 
left rear. I don't know anything about the 
ground on our absolute left, but so long as 
that flathead regiment hold on to their trench, 
we can't go far wrong. Waddell, I don't like 
those cottages on our left front. They block 
the view, and also spell machine-guns. I see 
one or two very suggestive loopholes in those 
red- tiled roofs. Go and draw Ay ling's atten- 
tion to them. A little preliminary strafing^ 
will do them no harm." 

Five minutes later one of Ayling's machine- 
guns spoke out, and a cascade of tiles came 
sliding down the roofs of the offending 
cottages. 

^^That will tickle them up, if they have 
any guns set up on those rafters," observed 
the Major, with ghoulish satisfaction. **I 
wonder if Brer Bosche is going to attack. I 
hope he does. There is only one thing I am 
afraid of, and that is that there may be 
some odd saps running out towards us, 
especially on our flanks. If so, we shall have 
some close work with bombs — a most un- 



333 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAKD 

gentlemanly method of warfare. Let us pray 
for a straightforward frontal attack. ' ' 

But Brer Bosche had other cards to play 
first. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the air was 
filled with *^ whizz-bang '^ shells, moving in a 
lightning procession which lasted nearly half 
an hour. Most of these plastered the already 
scarred countenance of Fosse Eight: others 
fell shorter and demolished our parapet. 
When the tempest ceased, as suddenly as it 
began, the number of casualties in the crowded 
trench was considerable. But there was little 
time to attend to the wounded. Already the 
word was running down the line — 

* ^ Look out to your front ! ' ' 

Sure enough, over the skyline, two hundred 
yards away, grey figures were appearing — 
not in battalions, but tentatively, in twos and 
threes. Next moment a storm of rapid rifie 
fire broke from the trench. The grey figures 
turned and ran. Some disappeared over the 
horizon, others dropped flat, others simply 
curled up and withered. In three minutes 
solitude reigned again, and the firing ceased. 

^^Well, that's that!" observed Captain 
Wagstaffe to Bobby Little, upon the right 
of the Battalion line. ^*The Bosche has * be- 
thought himself and went,' as the poet says. 
Now he knows we are here, and have brought 
our arquebuses with us. He will try some- 
thing more ikey next time. Talking of time, 
what about breakfast? When was our last 
meal, Bobby T' 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 333 

** Haven't the vaguest notion/' said Bobby 
sleepily. 

^ ^ Well, it 's about breakfast-time now. Have 
a bit of chocolate f It is all I have. ' ' 

It was eight o'clock, and perfect silence 
reigned. All down the line men, infinitely 
grubby, were producing still grubbier frag- 
ments of bully-beef and biscuits from their 
persons. For an hour, squatting upon the 
sodden floor of the trench — it was raining 
yet again — the unappetising, intermittent 
meal proceeded. 

Then 

** Hallo !" exclaimed Bobby with a jerk (for 
he was beginning to nod), ^*what was that 
on our right?" 

^*I'm afraid," replied Wagstaffe, ^Hhat it 
was bombs. It was right in this trench, too, 
about a hundred yards long. There must be 
a sap leading up there, for the bombers 
certainly have not advanced overground. 
I've been looking out for them since stand- to. 
Who is this anxious gentleman?" 

A subaltern of the battalion on our right 
was forcing his way along the trench. He 
addressed Wagstaffe. 

'*We are having a pretty bad time with 
Bosche bombers on our right, sir," he said. 
^^Will you send us down all the bombs you 
can spare?" 

Wagstaff e hoisted himself upon the parapet. 

'*! will see our CO. at once," he replied, 
and departed at the double. It was a risky 



334 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND 

proceeding, for German bullets promptly ap- 
peared in close attendance; but he saved a 
good five minutes on his journey to Battalion 
Headquarters at the other end of the trench. 

Presently the bombs began to arrive, passed 
from hand to hand. Wagstaife returned, this 
time along the trench. 

^^We shall have a tough fight for it," he 
said. **The Bosche bombers know their busi- 
ness, and probably have more bombs than we 
have. But those boys on our right seem to 
be keeping their end up. ' ' 

*^ Can't we do anything?" asked Bobby 
feverishly. 

** Nothing — unless the enemy succeed in 
working right down here; in which case we 
shall take our turn of getting it in the neck — 
or giving it ! I fancy old Ayling and his pop- 
gun will have a word to say, if he can find a 
nice straight bit of trench. All we can do for 
the present is to keep a sharp look-out in front. 
I have no doubt they will attack in force when 
the right moment comes. ' ' 

For close on three hours the bomb-fight 
went on. Little could be seen, for the 
struggle was all taking place upon the ex- 
treme right; but the sounds of conflict were 
plain enough. More bombs were passed up, 
and yet more; men, some cruelly torn, were 
passed down. 

Then a signal-sergeant doubled up across 
country from somewhere in rear, paying out 
wire, and presently the word went forth that 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 335 

we were m tonch with tlie Artillery. Directly 
after, sure enougli, came the blessed sound 
and sight of British shrapnel bursting over 
our right front. 

^^That won't stop the present crowd/' said 
Wagstaffe, *^but it may prevent their rein- 
forcements from coming up. We are holding 
our own, Bobby. What's that, Sergeant?" 

* * The Commanding Officer, sirr, ' ' announced 
Sergeant Carfrae, ^^has just passed up that 
we are to keep a sharp look-out to our left. 
They've commenced for to bomb the English 
regiment now," 

^ ^ Golly, both flanks ! This is getting a trifle 
steep, ' ' remarked Wagstaff e. 

Detonations could now be distinctly heard 
upon the left. 

^*If they succeed in getting round behind 
us," said Wagstaffe in a low voice to Bobby, 
*^we shall have to fall back a bit, into line 
with the rest of the advance. Only a few 
hundred yards, but it means a lot to us!" 

''It hasn't happened yet," said Bobby 
stoutly. 

Captain Wagstaffe knew better. His more 
experienced eye and ear had detected the fact 
that the position of the regiment upon the 
left was already turned. But he said 
nothing. 

Presently the tall figure of the Colonel was 
seen, advancing in leisurely fashion along the 
trench, stopping here and there to exchange a 
word with a private or a sergeant. 



336 THE FIEST HUNDKED THOUSAND 

**Tlie regiment on the left may have to fall 
back, men,'' he was saying. ^*We, of course, 
will stand fast, and cover their retirement. ' ' 

This most characteristic announcement was 
received with a matter-of-fact ^^Varra good, 
sir," from its recipients, and the Colonel 
passed on to where the two officers were 
standing. 

** Hallo, Wagstaife,'' he said; ** good- 
morning! We shall get some very pretty 
shooting presently. The enemy are massing 
on our left front, down behind those cottages. 
How are things going on our right?" 

**They are holding their own, sir." 

**Good! Just tell Ay ling to get his guns 
trained. But doubtless he has done so already. 
I must get back to the other flank. ' ' 

And back to the danger-spot our CO. passed 
— an upright, gallant figure, saying little, ex- 
horting not at all, but instilling confidence 
and cheerfulness by his very presence. 

Half-way along the trench he encountered 
Major Kemp. 

**How are things on the left, sirf" was the 
Major's sotto voce inquiry. 

**Not too good. Our position is turned. 
We have been promised reinforcements, but 
I doubt if they can get up in time. Of course, 
when it comes to falling back, this regiment 
goes last." 

*'0f course, sir." 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG--HEAPS 337 



IV 



HigJilanders! Four hundred yards! At 
the enemy advancing half-left, rapid fire! 

Twenty minutes had passed. The regi- 
ment still stood immovable, though its left 
flank was now utterly exposed. All eyes 
and rifles were fixed upon the cluster of 
cottages. Through the gaps that lay be- 
tween these could be discerned the advance 
of the German infantry — line upon line, 
moving towards the trench upon our left. 
The ground to our front was clear. Each 
time one of these lines passed a gap the rifles 
rang out and Ay ling's remaining machine- 
gun uttered joyous barks. Still the enemy 
advanced. His shrapnel was bursting over- 
head; bullets were whistling from nowhere, 
for the attack in force was now being pressed 
home in earnest. 

The deserted trench upon our left ran 
right through the cottages, and this re- 
stricted our view. No hostile bombers could 
be seen; it was evident that they had done 
their bit and handed on the conduct of 
affairs to others. Behind the shelter of 
the cottages the infantry were making a 
safe detour, and were bound, unless some- 
thing unexpected happened, to get round 
behind us. 

^ ^They'll be firing from our rear in a 
minute," said Kemp between his teeth. 



338 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

^'Lochgair, order your platoon to face about 
and be ready to fire over the parados.'' 

Young Lochgair's method of executing 
this command was characteristically thorough. 
He climbed in leisurely fashion upon the 
parados ; and standing there, with all his six- 
foot-three in full view, issued his orders. 

*'Face this way, boys! Keep your eyes 
on that group of buildings just behind the 
empty trench, in below the Fosse. You'll 
get some target practice presently. Don't 
go and forget that you are the straightest- 
shooting platoon in the Company. There 
they are" — he pointed with his stick — *4ots 
of them — coming through that gap in the 
wall! Now then, rapid fire, and let them 
have it! Oh, well done, boys! Good shoot- 
ing ! Very good ! Very good ind " 

He stopped suddenly, swayed, and toppled 
back into the trench. Major Kemp caught 
him in his arms, and laid him gently upon 
the chalky floor. There was nothing more 
to be done. Young Lochgair had given his 
platoon their target, and the platoon were 
now firing steadily upon the same. He closed 
his eyes and sighed, like a tired child. 

*' Carry on, Major!" he murmured faintly. 
**I'm all right." 

So died the simple-hearted, valiant en- 
thusiast whom we had christened Othello. 

The entire regiment — what was left of it 
— was now firing over the back of the trench ; 
for the wily Teuton had risked no frontal 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG--HEAPS 339 

attack, seeing that lie could gain all his ends 
from the left flank. Despite vigorous rifle 
fire and the continuous maledictions of the 
machine-gun, the enemy were now pouring 
through the cottages behind the trench. Many- 
grey figures began to climb up the face of 
Fosse Eight, where apparently there was 
none to say them nay. 

'*We shall have a cheery walk back, I 
donH think!'' murmured Wagstaffe. 

He was right. Presently a withering fire 
was opened from the summit of the Fosse, 
which soon began to take effect in the ex- 
iguous and ill-protected trench. 

^^The Colonel is wounded, sir," reported 
the Sergeant-Major to Major Kemp. 

'^Badlyr' 

^*Yes, sir." 

Kemp looked round him. The regiment 
was now alone in the trench, for the gallant 
company upon their right had been battered 
almost out of existence. 

^*We can do no more good by staying here 
any longer," said the Major. *^We have done 
our little bit. I think it is a case of ^Home, 
John ! ' Tell off a party to bring in the CO., 
Sergeant-Major. ' ' 

Then he passed the order. 

* * Highlanders, retire to the trenches behind, 
by Companies, beginning from the right." 

'* Whatever we may think of the Bosche 
as a gentleman," mused that indomitable 
philosopher. Captain Wagstaffe, as he doubled 



340 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND 

stolidly rearward behind his Company, ** there 
is no denying his bravery as a soldier or his 
skill in co-ordinating an attack. It's posi- 
tively uncanny, the way his artillery supports 
his infantry. (Hallo, that was a near one!) 
This enfilade fire from the Fosse is most 
nnpleasant. (I fancy that one went through 
my kilt.) Steady there, on the left: don't 
bunch, whatever you do! Thank heaven, 
there 's the next line of trenches, fully manned. 
And thank God, there 's that boy Bobby tumb- 
ling in unhurt 1" 



So ended our share in the Big Push. It 
was a very small episode, spread over quite 
a short period, in one of the biggest and 
longest battles in the history of the world. 
It would have been easy to select a more 
showy episode, but hard to find a better 
illustration of the character of the men who 
took part in it. The battle which began 
upon that grey September morning has been 
raging, as I write, for nearly three weeks. 
It still surges backwards and forwards over 
the same stricken mile of ground; and the 
end is not yet. But the Hun is being 
steadily beaten to earth. (Only yesterday, 
in one brief furious counter-attack, he lost 
eight thousand killed.) When the final ad- 
vance comes, as come it must, and our 
victorious line sweeps forward, it will pass 



THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS 341 

over two narrow, ill-constructed, shell-torn 
trenches. In and aronnd those trenches will 
be fonnd the earthly remains of men — 
Jocks and Jimmies, and Sandies and Andies 
— clad in the uniform of almost every Scot- 
tish regiment. That assemblage of mute, 
glorious witnesses marks the point reached, 
during the first few hours of the first day's 
fighting, by the Scottish Division of **K(1)." 
Molliter ossa cubent. 

There is little more to add to the record 
of those three days. For yet another night 
we carried on — repelling counter-attacks, 
securing the Hohenzollern, making sorties 
out of Big Willie, or manning the original 
front line parapet against eventualities. As 
is inevitable in a fight of these proportions, 
whole brigades were mingled together, and 
unexpected leaders arose to take the place 
of those who had fallen. Many a stout piece 
of work was done that night by mixed bands 
of kilties, flat-heads, and even cyclists, mar- 
shalled in a captured German trench and 
shepherded by a junior subaltern. 

Finally, about midnight, came the blessed 
order that fresh troops were coming up to 
continue the attack, and that we were to 
be extricated from the melee and sent back 
to rest. And so, after a participation in the 
battle of some seventy-two hours, our battered 
Division came out — to sleep the sleep of utter 
exhaustion in dug-outs behind the railway 
line, and to receive, upon waking, the thanks 
of its Corps Commander. 



343 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND 



VI 



And here I propose (for a time, at least) to 
take leave of The First Hundred Thousand. 
Some day, if Providence wills, the tale shall 
be resumed; and you shall hear how Major 
Kemp, Captain Wagstaife, Ayling, and Bobby 
Little, assisted by such veterans as Corjjoral 
Mucklewame, built up the regiment, with 
copious drafts and a fresh batch of subalterns, 
to its former strength. 

But the title of the story will have to 
be changed. In the hearts of those who 
drilled them, reasoned with them, sometimes 
almost wept over them, and ultimately fought 
shoulder to shoulder with them, the sturdy, 
valiant legions, whose humorously-pathetic 
career you have followed so patiently for 
fifteen months, will always be First; but 
alas! they are no longer The Hundred 
Thousand. 

So we will leave them, as is most justly 
due, in sole possession of their proud title. 



THE END 



"JNSuQ^r 



